Tell All
by MarogIon
Summary: The infamous couple from start to finish.
1. Chapter 1

_It was glaringly sunny as she._.. nope. Ok... _It was a gloomy overcast day with sweeping wind and rain as she_... muuuuch better. Ok.  
Ignoring the brilliant sunshine that cut through the cheap curtains of her apartment Harleen Quinzel continued to write about the "storm" that plagued her steps as she walked up the steep driveway to her first day as an intern at Arkham Asylum. A walk she had yet to make. As her pen scratched feverishly across the hard-backed journal she had picked out for exactly this occasion she jiggled one leg beneath her desk. Her heels beating a steady staccato rhythm into the wooden floor.

Every few words she glanced at the clock on her kitchen wall yet it seemed determined to stay static. Anxiously awaiting the events she detailed in the journal, she had been dressed and ready to leave three hours ago. Though not expected for her orientation as a psychiatrist for yet another three, she watched the clock and jiggled. Bit her nails and jiggled. Scribbled out a sentence furiously and jiggled...  
"BAH!" she slammed her pen down beside the mess of crumpled pages, and snatching her handbag from the floor, she strode out the door.

Keeping a sharp eye on the other doors in her less than glamorous building she fumbles to lock up her apartment securely. Multiple deadbolts sometimes took a while. Testing they are in place with twist of the tarnished doorknob and a small kick she buries her keys in her bag once more.

Despite the fine day, a rarity in Gotham city, by the time Harleen reaches street level the light seems more gloomy, the sunshine muted by the everyday pollution of cars, taxis, and unidentified smog that drifts west from the industrial district. She sits in her vehicle staring at the hazy glow for a long moment before starting the ignition with a savage flick of the wrist and pulling out into the traffic.

She kills time by getting lunch at the same old diner shes been frequenting since university, forcing herself to make pleasant small talk with the fat hairy man who runs it. Not only does staying on his good side ensure her food remains free of spit but it keeps her in practice at feigning interest and sincerity to people that repulse her; a necessary skill for her workplace of choice. His waffles are cheap yet divine, even if the pube-like curled hair blanketing his shoulders and upper arms does appear to be held on by grease alone. Surely its been enough time by now... she glances at the time and decides better to arrive early than to be so insane from waiting that she needs to be admitted instead of hired. Wrinkling her nose at the tar-like substance in the coffee machines she opts for a small bottle of soda on her way out, knowing that her favourite flavour contains enough sugar to make up for the loss of caffeine.

* * *

"Harleen Quinzel?" Rings out a voice as she stands gawping in the reception area after trying on her new doctors coat. Turning hurriedly to its source pushing her glasses more firmly in place "I'm Joan Leland." remarks a severe looking woman in a similar coat.

"Hi, Joan." Harley smiles and frees a hand to shake the one being offered "Call me Harley. Everyone does."

The two women walk down a series of long sloping hallways then downstairs into a large underground room bristling with armed guards. On either side of them are the clear walled cells that house Arkham's most dangerous inmates.

"I must admit I was surprised you wanted to intern here at Arkham."

"Well, I've always had an attraction for extreme personalities. They're more exciting. More challenging..." Harley trails off as Joan gives her a wondering look.

"And more high-profile?" she interjects with as scathing gaze but Harley merely shrugs.

"You can't deny there's an element of glamour to these super-criminals."

"Ill warn you right now: These are hard-core psychotics. If you're thinking about cashing in on them..." Leland lectures as Harley's eyes go wide as she recognises the man in the cell nearby. "...by writing a tell-all book, think again."

Harley moves over to where a pale and defined figure reclines against the stone wall of his cell. Her eyes locked onto the signature bright green hair of the Joker. THE Joker...! Harley marvels her breathing shallower and faster than usual. Her eyes trail from the hair, to the glinting metal teeth... and then get momentarily lost descending the scarred and tattooed planes of his torso and coming to a rest on the muscled v that disappears into his Arkham uniform sweat pants.

"They'd eat a novice like you for breakfast." Leland states firmly and begins to lead the way back down the hall. Harley's eyes snap upward to the Jokers as he regards her piercingly through the glass, the intensity makes her smile nervously as she turns to leave, she could have sworn she saw him wink.

Joan Leland leaves Harley an hour later with a stack of paperwork, an ID badge and another set of warnings outside a faded paint and chipped metal door. It reads DR. HARLEEN QUINZEL in fresh paint below the large aged number seventeen. Harley opens the door and steps into the darkened room. The fluorescent lights flicker into life above a square table and chairs that are bolted to the floor directly in front of the entrance, within sight of the small high set window pane in the door. To the left of this table the space is set up like an office, desk, filing cabinet, a few reference books. A vase with a single rose features prominently on the desk.

Flopping the pile of paperwork unceremoniously onto the desk corner Harley's hand picks up the rose. Reading the card reveals the inscription: COME DOWN AND SEE ME SOMETIME - J. She doesn't know a "J". Meeting Joan Leland today certainly didn't leave her the impression she was the type to send welcoming flowers, besides her office was a few floors above this one, not "down". The only other name beginning with J with relevance today is the Joker. She sniffs the rose and smiles thoughtfully as she takes a seat. Must be a joke, something they do to try to psych out new interns, make them think the patients are after them from day one. She struggles with indecision for a moment not wanting to play along with others games if this was the case... but the Joker... imagine if it was from him. Her hand inched to the small journal in her coat pocket.

A sharp rapping on the door flung her from her reverie.

"Doctor Quinzel?"

"That's me!" She cried leaping to her feet.

The man at the door chuckled softly and straightened his glasses as she blushed furiously and smoothed her clothing self-consciously.

"Id say "penny for your thoughts" but aside from that saying being almost as old as I am I believe it to be a dangerous sentence in a place such as this." He murmurs from beneath a salt and pepper mustache. "Jeremiah Arkham"

"Sir!" she clacked forward, arm outstretched eagerly "Pleasure to be here"

"Pleasure to meet someone who hasn't had the enthusiasm shocked out of them, yet" they shake hands and the corners of his mustache ruffle in what she assumes is a smile and she rewards him with one of her own before clasping her hands in front of her.

"I make a point to greet all of my staff on their first day" he begins in a somewhat practiced manner "The name of Arkham has long been stamped upon these walls and the legacy of my family has been to safeguard the mentally unwell in order to, in turn, safeguard the well-being of those around them. Here in Gotham we have our fair share of citizens in need of that help. With luck, patience and the implementation of tried and trusted psychiatric tools we can try our damndest to lesson the number that require... asylum in these halls." he monologues as Harley nods at what she hopes are the appropriate places.

"...We shall see about assigning you some patients once we take store of the level of difficulty you can cope with on a weekly basis, no use if the doctors become so overwhelmed they become a patient in turn..."

"With all due respect sir I'd like to get stuck in immediately. I didn't get this far by taking things easy" she interrupted hoping she sounded authoritative.

"Well," he floundered briefly his script clearly not taking into account interjections "Well, I, uh, suppose given your, keen work ethic we can see about perhaps shadowing an existing doctors patients. Some of the more, uncooperative.. patients can benefit from a team of doctors to provide more round the clock care."

"Uncooperative meaning high risk." she concluded reading his hesitation.

"Well... I suppose you could put it that way. It is difficult to justify more man hours being spent on a single patient unless they are prone to... complications."

"The normal ratio of patients to staff being... " she lead.

"Sixteen to one" Arkham replied drawing himself up pompously to full height at her accusatory tone "well within industry standard."

Quickly she switched to her blondest wide eyed expression at his hint of offense.

"I hope you didn't think I meant... I'm just excited to know how many people I can help!" the bright idealistic intern impression was not too far of a stretch for her to pull off.

"Yes, well" Arkham relaxed slightly, pausing to wipe down his glasses with the edge of his sweater. "We'll have to see who has a suitable session this afternoon, see if we can whet your appetite for rehabilitation."

Harley barely concealed her smirk as he bid her farewell and good luck, promising to have someone email her before this evening with a prospective session. You'd think that someone trained in psychology themselves would see through falsehood and manipulation more readily, but if anything, she'd had experienced the opposite. The more sure of themselves a person felt, the less they concerned themselves with the actions of others. Protagonists in their own story. How many times had it been said by victims, loved ones, coworkers, "I cant believe it, they seemed like such a normal/nice/good person" even as a new patient was admitted. She unveiled a limp prepacked sandwich from the depths of her handbag and picked at it with a sigh.

* * *

After giving up on the rest of her sandwiches (mostly crust as this point) an orderly wandered in and introduced himself. His name was Fraser but she doubted sincerely she'd remember that in ten minutes as she was far more fascinated by his long flowing hair. His rather nondescript face had the effect of combining with the curtains of fine blonde hair into complete gender ambiguity as he led her in a brief tour of the staff areas. Though Leland had given a cursory run around the patient areas, mostly just the shock and awe of maximum security, she had not touched on things like; bathrooms, where to seek coffee, lockers to keep personal belongings. Eventually the subject of his hair was brought up by the orderly himself as though he fully expected her to notice it.

"Its not particularly wise to have your hair down at work. Literally and metaphorically." he chuckled holding a door open for her. They entered a cavernous room filled with row upon row of slumped uniformed patients, a cafeteria. "There are some nutters who will get a bit grabby without their morning cocktail," he elaborated passing a table covered in dozens of small paper cups filled with pills "and others who will pounce on the slightest bit of personal information or moment of relaxed attitude to bring you down."

As though listening in, one of the patients stood with a pterodactyl screech and began beating the man opposite him with his plastic tray. When an orderly or two that were dispersed through the room keeping an eye on things approached him they received similar treatment with the tray. Chaos reigned briefly as those near to the altercation hid, shook, yelled, whooped, or joined in according to their natures. Anyone more than 10 feet away seemed entirely non perturbed, scooping the messy array of foods before them into their mouths indifferently. Those must be some drugs... Harley mused. Peace was restored fairly quickly. The involved orderlies retrieved individually packaged antiseptic wipes from their pockets with ease of practice, swiping them across the scratches and a bite-mark or two now adorning their faces as if it was the most normal thing in the world. When this was done they then crouched beside the patients with fresh wipes to give them the same treatment.

"Shouldn't any injuries be officially treated by the medical ward?" She questioned... god what was his name again... why do I keep thinking of penguins... penguins, Antarctica, cold, freezer "Fraser!" she said aloud almost triumphantly. Taken slightly aback by her tone he nonetheless replied.

"Well yes, officially... Not to put you off on your first day or anything, but minor injuries occur so often here that it would be bedlam to march every scratched, scraped, bitten, bruised, sprained so and so to the Doc and back." he said leading the way to the double doors opposite to those they entered through as she frowned. "Unofficially, unless its highly likely to get infected, fall off or otherwise impede basic bodily functions, whack a band-aid on it and call it a day. Except the reds."

"Reds?"

"Red wristband." he points to a patient twisting a white plastic hospital band around and around his wrist frantically. "Whites, either safe enough or too out of it to be concerned about handing them objects. There allowed personal effects once they're checked for anything dangerous. They follow a rough schedule but they're mostly here voluntarily. Yellows." he points to the tray whacker surreptitiously."They're still with it enough, or conniving enough to come up with ways to use objects creatively. The can have up to three personal objects in their rooms at once but cant walk around with them. They can leave more things with the office and sign in something and trade it for another as need be. Nothing sharp, nothing electronic, nothing edible. Their location has to be recorded once an hour on the hour. They're troublemakers, manipulators and prone to petty violence. Most of your patients will be Yellows."

"I see." Harley acknowledges, jotting down a few thoughts as he laughs.

"You don't need to take notes! Still in the schoolgirl mindset I suppose." he smiles and shakes his head condescendingly.

. _..orderly, lax about standards and rules, stereotyping patients, girly-man haired penguin face_. She scribbles, just the sort of character flaws to bulk out her book. _The rusted cogs of the machine..._

"Then comes Reds. No personal kit. Locked in after dinner. Tend to either eat or shove into another patient anything you hand them. No band-aids. No pens. No plastic, easy to snap or melt into...things..." Girly-man-penguin... Fraser... continues. "Tend to be in here for the violent crimes but mostly with a type, or specific catalyst. Killed their family, their coworkers, several women but only those that are exactly 5 foot 4 and wear cherry lip-gloss. Things we can work around, look out for. Their "triggers" are laminated beside their rooms." He taps the plastic coated papers, also red, beside each of the doors lining this entire hallway. It looked more like a college dorm with extra locks than a hospital. "They can snap at the smallest weirdest thing, but we can handle them. Sedate-able, able to be overpowered. But Red corridors are off limits unless you have at least one orderly with you. Everyone travels in pairs."

* * *

Its not until they flash IDs at armed guards that flank the door leading to the inner courtyard that Harley realizes its been a long time since shes seen a guard. They cut across the meagre gardens and exercise areas outdoors to what appears to be a recreational hall at the other side. Guards once again wave them inside.

"Where are all the guards?"

"Were not a prison." he shrugs. "Police guards at all the doors leading to the outside. Including the court 'cause even though it has the building surrounding it on all sides, we've had climbers before."

"But not in the halls."

"Nope. Security guards, tasers only, two a floor. Mostly just to initiate lock downs. Watch the cameras. Above ground you're on your own" he grins wolfishly "excepting your friendly neighborhood orderlies of course."

"And below?" she probes, knowing hes deliberately building up to high security and max security patients, playing along.

"The Leathers. Two armed guards per hall. Locked in their rooms sans sessions, and exercise. Anywhere else they're restrained..."

"...in Leathers. Hard to bite through" she nods recognizing the casual term for the four point cuff system, wrists and ankles linked in a "T" shape.

"Most of them are chain nowadays, but some are much too slippery and need a booster shot too." he pats his chest pocket. "Law requires minimum restraints possible. Drugs over physical. Their checks are 30 minutes. 15 minutes if they've been disruptive or threatened staff or other patients recently."

Wringing out her own wrists back and forth from all the writing, _she really should invest in a tape recorder_ , she wandered paced the Leathers wing as _Girly_... uh Fraser spoke with one of his fellows. An orderly with a clipboard walked door to door, peering in and making obvious tick motions.

"Show me some skin please Mr... Lunkhead." the orderly wrinkles her nose distastefully at the lack of a real name, then leaps back as a loud bang and a shuddering of the metal door beside her affirms the patients presence. With another tick she moves on.

 _That must get real old real fast..._ Harley decided, _a boring yet effective punishment to have someone interrupt your day every 15 minutes..._

"Later Joe," _Girly man penguin... Fraser... G.M.P...Gimp hahahahaha_ said returning to Harley's side. She fought to keep a straight face. "I'm sure Joan gave you the Downstairs scare so that should be everything. I can walk you back to your office if you like."

"No charming nickname for the maximum security patients then?" She teased.

"Ahh... The Rogues Gallery"

* * *

 _The Rogues gallery_... Harley typed up in-between refreshing her emails every few minutes. ... _The reinforced glass doors bare all within the cramped and damp cells._.. cramped and damp... too rhymey... _bare all within their dank, claustrophobic confines_. Harley nods appreciatively and refreshes her email once again with a frown. Nothing. She flips through the notes she bullet pointed as Gimp (Her internal nickname for him had stuck) had led her back to this desk.

 _"Rogue gallery. Each one escorted into custody personally by our very own Batman. High tech surveillance thanks to a hefty top up of the accounts from the local playboy billionaire."_

 _"Bruce Wayne?"_

 _"How many playboy billionaires do you think Gotham has! HA! Yes, Wayne. Cameras," he pointed "Bullet proofing," he rapped on the glass of an empty cell. "Two whole guards per prisoner, armed to the teeth."_

 _"Patients." she corrected firmly._

 _"Freaks. Madmen. Some say there are even Meta-Humans." he rebutted "No less than a dozen murders a piece, and for many of them, that's waaaay understating it."_

 _"You're not supposed to be in here. No patient transfers untill 4pm" Barked one of the guards, having just questioned the security man who had waved them onward._

 _"Just a quick tour" Smiled Gimp placatingly._

 _"So you're a tour guide? Scrubs say you're an orderly. Take the orders"_

 _"Sorry Harleen" Gimp grumbled as they ascended to the ground floor, clearly miffed at being put in his place by the guard._

 _"Harley." she smiled "and don't be, not your fault we lack the required stick up our asses to enter." she joked._

Tap tap tap tap... her fingers meandered across the keys sketching out initial impressions of everything from the food to the flooring as a small ding sent her heart racing and her hand shaking to reveal her new email.

"Room 22, report to Dr. Gould, 1545"


	2. Chapter 2

Confirming with a passing staff member, the session rooms were 10 per upper floor. Essentially her room was not room seventeen, so much as room seven, floor one. This put Dr Gould on the floor above. The narrow stairwells curled upon themselves, wrought iron stairs of sprawling flowers betraying the age of the Victorian manor the asylum was converted from. She was as careful as she could muster in her excitement. Placing the spindly heels of her stilettos in a pattern bordering on OCD, the centers of flowers only, least they fall through the gaps.

The door to the second floor was unguarded but a frantic scuffle on the next landing alerted her to an orderly attempts to snuff out his lit cigarette before commenting "Oh. Just a fucking intern." and pulling another from the depths of his pockets. _Health facility indeed_. Squaring her shoulders she peered down the hall and continued. _29... 28... 27..._ corner. _26... 25... 24.._. corner...

"Oh!"

Rounding the last corner to the stretch she assumed would contain her destination she was startled into speech by the two semi automatic weapons trained on her every move. After a moments hesitation she walked forward with a brisk air and headed straight for the room they flanked.

"Dr Harleen Quinzel for Dr Gould" she announced.

"You're new." Grunted the smaller of the two armed guards.

"I have only recently joined the Arkham staff... yes." she admitted slowly, questioning the relevance of this.

"So they're throwing you in the deep end on what, your first day?"

"I'm not being thrown. I jumped." her lips spread in a predatory grin.

With this the larger of the two guards chuckled softly and relaxed his stance somewhat.

"Oh I hope this one lives Matthews, need a little attitude to survive 'round here" he commented and opened the door between them and mockingly bowing her through.

* * *

Dr Bernard Gould paced a room much like her own. The paint and lighting had a lesser semblance of decay than her own, which gave the air a sense of a disused classroom, but it was more that this room had the feeling of being lived in. The main difference was in the form of a large glass wall between the table and chairs and the office portions. Noting the similarities between it and the doors of maximum security, Harley concluded it was the same high tech bullet proof system, effectively turning the office into a self contained panic room of sorts. While the office sported a potted plant or two, a tradition "shrinks couch" and a prim and proper desk set up, the Table side was a different beast. Clinical, as though it had been disinfected recently. The bolts securing the table and chairs to the floor filed down so as to be impossible to unscrew. No other furniture on this side, no blinds... Bars, over mesh, over safety glass, over windows. She smothered a fanatic grin. _Maximum patients!_ Maybe just very violent Leathers... but the expense of the wall argued Rogues! If there was one thing she had noted on her tour throughout the facilities it was that expenses were definitely spared. The locks, security offices, and areas nearest the visitor center were kept gleaming, but the further from these areas you wandered, the further into rundown horror movie aesthetic you went.

Introductions ensued.

"No please, call me Bernie without patients present"

After a brief bout of small talk, "Bernie" explained that he appreciated the second pair of eyes when dealing with their impending guest.

"We cant have the guards in the room... It makes him worse, even aside from doctor patients confidentiality concerns" He runs his hands through his retreating hairline repeatedly as he explains. "Its not precisely within guidelines to keep the patient in a straight jacket past transport... or indeed at all with modern uh... well Arkham is known to support our doctors in any decisions regarding... these sorts. of patients that is."

The doctor in her was fascinated by his anxiety. All the information she could garner from his personal touches to the office space argued a creature of organisation and habit, yet here he stood on the verge of twitching like a rabbit. His breathing was calm, steady, so no panic attack. Yet it was so calm and steady she became convinced that he was in fact practicing a technique of breathing they were taught for preventing hyperventilation.

* * *

As four o'clock approached, Dr Gould took the "therapist" seat leaving Harley standing slightly behind him to the left. She knew he did this before the patient arrived in an attempt to display power over the space, that their entrance was to his domain. Moving in a second non bolted chair was not an option unfortunately. Her instructions were to not say anything, and report anything she found noteworthy of their interaction afterward. _Babysitting_... she sighed _may as well be behind a two way mirror for all the participation_.

Clank... jingle... clank... jingle...clank...

The dragging of chains carried quite clearly down the deserted hall outside, gruff voices exchanged words. Shortie and Chuckles, the guards outside the door, pushed into the room flanking a third man.

Shockingly green hair flopped haphazardly into the bloodshot eyes of the Joker as he was lead to the free seat. Pushing him into it with a hand on his shoulder, one guard kept his gun trained on the clowns forehead as the other removed chained cuffs from his ankles and wrists. Left in his sweat stained and outdated straight jacket the Joker rotated his neck as though to alleviate a crick in it as the guards walked purposefully down the hall. The pair that escorted Joker upstairs appeared to be relieving them of door duty. They took the former guards positions and pulled the door closed behind them. The slamming of the outer lock into place was loud in the silent room.

"Doctorrr" growled the most infamous patient Arkham has ever seen. His gravelly voice, though pitched to sound amicable had underlying threat built into every syllable. Harley kept her features schooled into a cool, polite expression but Gould turned a small jump at the sound of his patients voice into a lunge for the pen he had set down beside his clipboard and dating the page. "Should I say doctorrrsss?" he drew out the last syllables, clipping short others. It was intriguing, the way it made you hang on his every word to make sure you got everything.

"Afternoon Mr Joker. How are you feeling since our last session?" Gould set his pen down once more, clasping his hands before him.

"Aren't you going to _introduce_ us?" Joker lilted musically.

"Doctor Quinzel is just here to observe, I'd like you to focus on me."

"Not exactly a... _proper_... introduction but if its the best you can dooo Doc" He directs at Gould before meeting Harley's eyes for a solid few seconds. "Charmed"

After a moments eye contact she finds herself shy, tucking the corners of her mouth in an almost smile and looking down and away. He turns back to Gould with a drawn out sigh through his nose.

"Not good Doc, not good at all..." he leans forward in his chair "I have this itch see...and I'm so... confined." he wriggles slightly as though in emphasis of his strapped jacket.

"Well that's..." Reaches for his pen only to find it gone "...Unfortunate...?" his tone become questioning as he frowns.

"Something the matter...Doctor?"

"I could have sworn... Never mind" He retrieves an identical pen from his jacket pocket and makes a few notes on his paper. The joker comically twists his head around as though trying to read it the right way up.

"The itching could be a side effect of the Strattera" The doctor scribbled.

"I don't think so" The Joker adds helpfully. "As I'm not taking it"

"You really need to take the medication you are prescribed or I cant help you!" Scolded Gould. Scolded Gould, Ha.

"Tryin' ta FIX me Doc?" as he says this the Joker leans forward as far as he can without standing.

Even from where she stood, Harley could tell the Doctor was heading down a bad path of conversation with this. He seemed to realize this, and turned his attention back to the clipboard only to find it populated by two pens.

"How did..." he turns to Harley suspicious but she is busy narrowing her eyes at Jokers attempt at wide eyed innocence. _But how could he... all strapped in_. "Mustn't have seen it, rolled under the clipboard or something" laughed off Gould. Joker nodded with a shrug and an expression that seemed to say "these things happen"

Gould leaned back in his chair to share the joke by smiling at Harley only to turn back and see one pen.

"You're doing something!" he accused, turning to her again "I'm not crazy!, we all saw TWO PENS, and he's all strapped up!"

"How quickly we all... turn... on each other" Joker clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. "Rolled on the floor Doc, just over there"

Sure enough, they all looked and a lone pen sat on the floor beside the table. With no apology, Gould stretched from his chair, but was unable to reach. He stood and hunched over to grab it only to send it skittering a little further away towards the window in his nervous anger. As he labored to seize the pen Harley's eyes flicked back to the table at a slight movement. No pens. Harley scowled. Certain now Joker was up to something. His eyes danced as though pleased she had noticed the movement. Slowly, deadpan, he reached a hand from the collar of his straitjacket and scratched his nose.

She couldn't help it. She burst into laughter. The hand retreated, and Gould stood, pen in hand, furious.

"Think playing little pranks on me will get you in his good books or something?" he began striding at her "I HAVE NEWS FOR YOU MISSY..."

"Choose your words... carefully" Purred Joker suddenly on his feet, pen against Gould's jugular, he pressed hard enough to indent the skin. The useless straight jacket was bunched around his waist revealing his tattooed torso. "Considering there's a _lady_ present"

Gould opened his mouth to yell for guards and died for it. Impossibly fast Harley suddenly found herself slammed against the wall, the point of the pen leaving bloody smears against her throat as the guards burst in to room, the room alarm blaring.

"Ah ah ah..." warned Joker, pulling her hair and head backwards to reveal the clicking the pen at Harley's neck. Out of fear for her life the guards lowered their weapons slightly as she struggled against him.

"You gonna _FIX_ me too doc... find out whats wrong upstairs... put it in a neat little box then fill the box with needles and pills and ... _electricity._ I've heard it all"

Harley scowled and wrenched herself about in his hold.

"Bet you couldn't even give me one _single_ theory that a hundred other quacks haven't already pegged my..."condition"... as before _you_ " he snarled in her ear.

"That dye ya have to drown your hair in ta get it green must be some strong stuff ta seep through a skull _that_ thick and turn ya crazy enough to grab me!" she snarled back, pushing away from the wall as hard as she could with her heel firmly planted on his socked foot. Dropping suddenly to the floor with no regard for the chunk of hair he still had in his grasp she rolled aside. His hands dragged downwards while still occupied, unable to brace himself against the sudden lack of Doctor, the force behind pinning her down now sent his forehead colliding painfully with the cement wall.

"Ha...ha...HAAA!"

The guards rushed forward to cuff him, weapons jabbing into his sides as Joker rested his hands on his head in compliance and laughed and laughed and laughed.  
"I like you..." he growled struggling against the guards suddenly once more, eyes wild, as the trio made to exit the room "and I thought this place had ran out of toys..."


	3. Chapter 3

By the time Harley had finished giving her account to what felt like a thousand people and was finally permitted to return to her office, she was furious. The door creaked and clanged to a close behind her, and without the satisfaction of slamming it properly, she felt drained. Leaning against the wall slumped in defeat she blew at a stray hair that had fallen loose from her severe bun and across her face.

Though her paid workday was over several recountings ago, and she had long since gotten through the tedious paperwork that was all they really expected of her to get done, the late afternoon sun still beat down through the bars. She stared at the dust swirling through the shaft of sunlight that drew a line in the stuffy air from her feet to the long, thin window across the top of the wall. Straightening her coat with a huff she threw the door to the hall open once more and left it gaping behind her as she strode of with a purpose. What would someone steal from her office anyway... the bolted down chairs.

* * *

The sun set in hues of burnt orange and faint pink a few hours later. Their colourful haze now shining clearly through a sparkling-ly clean pane. Harley sat, her legs splayed and straight in front of her, arms and head draping over the back of her desk chair. Her coat thrown aside, blouse sleeves rolled up, shoes... somewhere around the place. She slouched just that tiny bit too far and the little of her ass still in contact with the chair slid forward and landed on the floor with a painful "Ooof". Groaning to her feet and rubbing the offended area she sought her shoes once more. After putting her appearance back together as best she could, she stretched her arms above her head and surveyed her accomplishments.

After a few tiptoed excursions to some nearby cleaning closets every surface could now be eaten from. She wasn't sure if she was technically allowed to use company supplies freely, but for a place with several patients who may be tempted by a bottle of bleach, it sure was easy to find and completely unsecured. It wasn't like anyone would be put out by the room being cleaned for them. As far as she could tell it didn't seem anyone cleaned in here at all. At first she had only intended to tackle the smudged and cobwebby window and a few particularly vomit-esc stains on the bolted table corner. However once she scooted the dented filing cabinet to the side to sweep a determined looking spider from its shadow, she saw the colour of the rectangle of wall it was shielding. The colour the room was supposed to be. Seizing a damp cloth to test this she wrote her name on the blank stretch of wall between the door and her desk. Eww. Then the war began.

Out went a cracked plastic trashcan, dead plant, molded reference texts and faded files that once slid down the side of the cabinet. The heels discarded to better balance on a chair to reach the window. A mop, robbed of its damp tangled head and strapped with a large sponge that may or may not have belonged to a torn and rejected mattress she found reached the walls and ceiling that eluded her-on-a-chair's reach. Wandering the halls of less used areas she "salvaged" a metal wire wastebasket, a spare bookcase, a slightly less worn and more favorably coloured desk chair (red instead of might-have-been-brown-once). The staff wasn't lively enough to miss them, in fact they barely interacted at all. She found it hard to forget about the stash of nicer decor hidden behind the panic window in the late Dr Gould's office. As she finished inspecting her work her eyes fell once more on the single rose that began to wilt in the dying light.

* * *

It didn't take much to convince the only guard that noticed her on her way down to maximum security. It seemed since none of the patients red and above could leave their room or cells past dark, the guards more or less left the building in the mental sense. Some played cards, some shifted their weight from foot to foot as though counting the seconds of their shifts. No one cared about the morbid curiosity of an intern, she was not the first nor the last to wander down before leaving on their first day.

As seen through the glass of his cell, the Joker reclines comfortably as possible on his cot. Harley takes a deep breath then holds the card against the glass for him to see.

"Care to tell me how this got in my office?" she bluffs.

"I put it there." he states calmly, uninterested. Trying to return the Joker's casual attitude she fidgets with the card and waits.

"I think the guards would be interested to know you've been out of your cell." Her anger returns slightly when he gives Harley a knowing look.

"If you were really going to tell, you already would have." He suddenly springs up with such manic energy that Harley jumps back from the door, startled.

"Y'know, sweets, I like what I've heard about you." she feels like a snake being charmed as he wends his way back and forth slightly behind the glass before pressing his hands splayed wide on either side of his head "Especially the name. Harley Quin-zel."

She peers at him intently as he makes an impish face in return.

"Rework it a bit and you get Harley Quinn." Harley nods as she puts the Joker's card in her pocket.

"Like the clown character Harlequin... I know. I've heard it before."

"It's a name that puts a smile..." he covers his metal teeth with a tattooed grin on the back of one hand. "...on my face. It makes me feel there's someone here I can relate to."

Harley starts to walk away as the Joker quietly adds: "Someone who might like to hear my _secrets_."

She knows her step falters and her hand twitches to the journal in her pocket, she knows he noticed both. She smiles.

* * *

Brushing aside the crime scene tape on the second floor and not bothering to turn on the lights, Harley seizes her goals and hurriedly clacks down the nearby stairs to her own office. Slinging her prizes inside she locks the door and tests it, just as she would at her apartment. Locked. Just like home.


	4. Chapter 4

It wasn't until the next day that Harley was made aware that being slammed into concrete walls isn't a favorable pass time. Waking to the drone of her alarm she went to get out of bed with all the usual grumbling but confident in her success at in fact getting up. Only her limbs had a different idea. Her jolting action, normally resulting in standing to stretch, resulted instead in a sort of half assed seizure and loud groan.

"Whyyyeeeeee" she announced to no one in particular, clasping various joints in turn. The next moment or two was spent in the usual reprimand to her body... _why are you so sore and useless, I didn't do anything to you!._.. _Oh wait maybe I did_. She listed excuses as she convinced her body to function. _Woke up too early yesterday, hunching over paperwork, lengthy walking tour in heels, slamming into concrete wall, then concrete floor, then furniture moving-scrubbing-cleaning-overhead mopping fit... crappy leftovers dinner... Ok, fair point feet and shoulders, but rest of you, shut up._

Showered and dressed, she gathered things from a list she made yesterday. Somewhere between spider eviction and wall mopping she had the forethought to record all of the thoughts of this would be so much better if I had BLANK with me. Unfortunately "had my ID accessible with full hands" wasn't one of the blanks.

Juggling two armfuls of bags between car and Asylum entrance, not so bad. Bear hug them and rest the weighty bits on your hips. Piece of cake. Now reach into your pocket. Damn. The guards at the entrance waited seemingly patiently as she struggled, almost losing grip on several things.

"Aha!" she shouted in triumph catching the edge of her ID between index and middle fingers and brandishing it only to drop almost everything. On top of it. As she muttered and shuffled things back into order a pair of doctors walked past, flicking their IDs in practiced movements and completely ignoring her as they entered.

"I'm FINE thanks for askin'!" she called after them, sacrificing a handful of bag handles to flip them off. The leftmost guard cleared his throat.

"Its my second day" she smiled and cringed, offering her rescued ID. The right hand guard spontaneously developed manners and passed the final bag to her already laden arms before holding the door open for her.

* * *

She didn't know how she made it to her door without further incident. Close enough to her goal she dropped her bags to the floor and unlocked her office. The faint smell of lingering floor cleaner greets her but it only serves to remind her of how much worse it smelt yesterday. By the time Dr Leland strode in with today's paperwork several small touches were laid out expertly to take advantage of the space. Some posters for colour, some stationary musts, a small selection of books for either personal reference or showing the patients. Leland raises a well manicured brow at the pile of assorted cushions that have taken over an area beneath the window but Harley simply beams back as she reaches for her new patient files with glee and ignores her until she leaves. Getting stuck into reading up on patients notes, Harley uses the faded guides glued into the front cover of each folder to look over what each patients schedule currently looks like. Two have free time this morning, one free in the afternoon. Itching to meet them all she submits session requests for those who are free and decides to pop in on patient meal times in order to meet the other three folder occupants and draws herself a schedule of her own.

 _Cheri Barker - Breakfast_  
 _Krystal Foley - 10am_  
 _Dirk Buckner - 11am_  
 _Greg Wells - Lunch_  
 _Jerome Gates - 2pm_  
 _Stefanie Lang - Dinner_

* * *

Harley lingers in the cafeteria as the patients begin to file in, frequently glancing between the small picture paper clipped to her personal schedule and those who enter. Eventually she spots her first patient ( _My very first patient eeeeee!_ ). Harley looks on from afar as the middle aged woman collects her tray, her pills, a bowl of porridge, a sliced orange, and a cup of diluted apple juice and falls into the nearest empty table to the end of the line. After a moment of staring at the table, face hidden by a mop of tight brown curls, she pokes at her food with the only cutlery present. The rubbery coated spoon is akin to those given to toddlers, and bounces off the surface of the equally rubbery oats. Harley approaches her table and pauses until the woman looks up at her blearily.

"Hi!"

"Hello..." the woman rasps. "I took them already" she dismisses waving a hand at the empty paper cup that had contained pills moments ago and turning her head back to her food.

"Well, no, ya didn't..." the woman snaps her head up at this "But that's not why I'm here. Harley." she extends a hand "Well, Doctor Quinzel, but you can call me Harley"

The woman takes the extended hand gingerly and gives it the briefest of shakes before dropping it. Harley just smiles and slides into one of the seats.

"Cheri Dunham" She offers, attempting to spoon through the skin that has settled over her breakfast in record time.

"Nice to meet ya-you" Harley self corrects "...Cheri. Ill be your Doctor while you're here with us at Arkham. Ill try not to take up much of your time I just wanted to meet everyone today and get an idea of how I can help."

Cheri grunts in acknowledgement.

"Sorry, but I had Barker on your files here?," Harley asks softly "I assume I've got the right person though from the picture."

"DUNHAM. Cheri DUNHAM." Snaps the woman, jabbing a finger at her yellow wristband.

"Of course, I'll make sure its corrected in the files." she reassures to Cheri's clear relief.

"See that you do." she states firmly, shakily raising her juice to her lips.

"Ok then, well it was great to meet you, Ill be setting up our sessions a few times a week for when you're free so Ill see you again real soon." Harley stood to leave with a practiced smile.

"Wait..."

"Yes hun?"

"Aren't you going to... tell. My pills I mean." she seemed flustered by the thought.

"What pills." Harley winks, and strides away.

* * *

Krystal was almost as old as Harley herself, but her slight figure, stature and demeanor made her appear no older than 12. She slid immediately into the hard plastic chair on the far side of the table and didn't say anything to Harley or the orderly that had guided her inside before leaving. Harley stood from her desk chair and was going to take her "doctor seat" opposite when she changed her mind.

"I don't want to sit there." she sighed.

"You have to sit there. You have to sit. You have to talk. You have to sit and be talked at. You have to be still at the table." the girl... woman really... but to Harley it seemed a girl, rambled.

"Well my butt hurts from that chair" she jerks a finger behind her "and that one looks worse. I'm sitting... here" she announces as she flops down on the pile of cushions. Krystal, head lowered, couldn't help but still be able to see Harley, splayed on the cushions.

"You're not a doctor."

"Sure I am, Dr Quinzel. See my ID?"

"No"

"Right here" she holds it out for inspection where its clipped to her pocket.

"I cant see from here."

"You can come down here you know"

This was met by silence for quite some time. Then adamant disbelief.

"No. You have to sit at the table. You cant sit on the floor. On the chair. I sit on the right-hand chair. Doctors sit in left hand chairs." she muttered staring at the table again.

"Well I don't want to."

"Then you're not a Doctor" The girl states firmly.

"How can you tell if you don't come see my ID?" Harley gambles. The girl flicks her eyes toward Harley, clearly annoyed by the lack of closure on proving her point. Harley waits patiently. Smiling blandly. The girl fidgets, starting small and then stone still again. Twisting her shirt and then still. Reaching for her hair and then still. She doesn't get up so much as pour herself onto the floor under the table and then sit with her legs tucked under her, hands on her knees. _I win_.

Harley holds out her ID a little further but doesn't detach it until the girl shuffles close enough to unclip it and stare at it.

"You can't be a doctor" she whispers in disbelief.

"Says who. You?" Harley jokes taking it back and returning it to her coat. "You also said you can't sit on the floor and you are so I don't believe you"

Shocked by this the silence returns for a while.

"The floor is even colder than the chair." she announces after several minutes.

"That's what the cushions are for"


	5. Chapter 5

_Cheri Barker - Breakfast_

 _Distrusts pills. Isn't taking her meds. As I thought, hates to be called by her married name and asks to be known by her maiden name. Unclear if this is because she hates her husband, or thinks/wants to pretend she never murdered him._

 _Krystal Foley - 10am_

 _Got her to say something other than parroting back rules she has formed for herself. Doesn't make eye contact much. Seems much less nervous than was noted in her files. Possibly because of having female/younger doctor? all her previous Doctors male, 30._

 _Dirk Buckner - 11am_

 _Creep._

* * *

Harley jotted down her mornings thoughts in her notebook. Her first patient seemed indifferent, but she felt she had made real strides with the second. Her hopes had been high entering her third session (well second OFFICIAL session) but it had been downhill from there. She tried to muster more helpful insights on "Dirk" but all she really thought was what she wrote. Creep. He had spent their just under an hour session either hitting on her or trying to convince her stealing corpses from a mortician to lick them was more common than people thought and he didn't deserve to be in here. Dirk the Jerk. Eww. Creep. She slammed his notes closed.

Greg Wells was up next. His folder was thin, and she was starving, so she headed for the cafeteria again. This time as she hovered the orderly at the cups of juice station motioned her over.

"Hey there." he calls, waving between patients.

"Hey" she smiled, sidling over while keeping half an eye on the door.

"Lookin for someone?" he rumbled, amused as he passes cups.

"Ah... yeah, a patient of mine, not that they know it yet." she scanned the crowd.

"Skipped their session?"

"No no, nothing like that, I'm just new and..."

"I can tell"

She threw him a glare and continued "...and trying to catch up with everyone to get the ball rolling."

"Like Scary Cheri this mornin?"

She frowned. _What was this, primary school?_

"You know, Scary, Cheri, doesn't like sharing..." he says in a singsong voice, inviting her to share the joke "Cause she offed hubby for strayin."

"Nice." her reply sounded clipped and dismissive.

"Don't be like that now, you gotta try find some things funny in here even if its morbid. Otherwise you might go craaaazy" he hisses and she relents, flopping a hand at him to cut it out.

"Who else you got?" he peers over the sneeze guard at her notes.

"Gregory Wells. But I've probably missed spotting him by now, thanks."

"Don't worry yourself he's by the windows, second table from the left." she is about to thank him genuinely this time when he shoves a tray with a paper dish of fries and a cup of the juice at her. "And eat something. Keen as you are new girl, you might forget." and he turns and leaves through the double doors into the kitchens with a wink.

She's smiling as she steadily clacks her heels towards the window table mentioned. She slows as she approaches enough that she can see the three men seated there, one is an elderly man and the others a pair of pale freckled redhead twins in their late twenties.

"Uhmmm..." she hesitates glancing one handed at the middle aged brunette man of her photo.

"Hello there. Have a seat, plenty of space." Offers the old man. "Doctor...?"

"Quinzel."

"Greg." he replies smiling brightly and pulling out a chair and motioning for her to take it. "Sit, sit. We don't bite"

"Not blondes anyways" giggles Twin One.

"Muuuch..." giggles Twin Two.

"I'm sorry Greg." she apologizes taking the offered seat "I think the photo I have is a tad outdated. I'm your new Doctor, Harleen Quinzel."

"No apology necessary my dear." he shakes her hand "How can I help you?"

"Help us Doc!"

"Yeah help us!"

The twins seem to punctuate everything with boyish giggling.

"Please don't mind my companions. I'm sure they'll _calm down_ once the thrill of a new lunch mate has faded a little."

Harley smiled, though her hands itched to take notes. She seized a soggy fry instead. Both the sudden change in tone from Greg's utter politeness to cold threat and back within a few words and the fact that the twins had fallen instantly and studiously silent since was fascinating. As was the fact that everyone with a windowside table, were reds.

After her little chat with Greg, sampling her fries and juice, she cleared her tray along with the patients, stopping to help a woman who seemed to be shaking too badly to get her tray to stack neatly. It wasn't until the last few yellow patients hurried down the hall that Harley noticed the rhythmic stomping coming down the opposite hall. She slowed to a crawl though still heading for the far doors as a double row of heavily guarded leathers entered, lined up against the window and were led one by one to their own tables, where this wasn't possible they were put at either end of a table, as far from one another as possible. Hand cuffs were removed but ankle cuffs were attached to metal rings under the table that Harley hadn't noticed until now. She couldn't stay much longer without walking backwards again so with a sigh she continued out into the halls.

"Hey...g...uhm... FRASER!" she flagged him down after catching sight of his distinctly flowing hair.

"Hey Harley hows it going?" he grinned broadly, half jogging over. "Glad you're OK, heard the clown got you." Other orderlies muttered and clearly attempted to be quiet enough to eavesdrop on more.

"Oh that." she dismissed. "Only roughed me up a little really. It was fine"

He stared at her, his smile sliding off.

"He killed his doctor for dropping his pen then came for you but the guards stopped him in time and "it was fine"?"

"That's not what happened... " she sighed then shook her head "but that's not why I wanted to talk to you anyway."

"Well shoot then I guess"

"Leathers have lunch after the colours?"

"Racist" he laughed.

"After the white, yellow and red patients." She huffed. "I thought they were locked up excepting sessions and exercise"

"Normally yeah, but we've had some trouble with the people serving the downstairs food, some quit, a couple injured. Then we had reports of some patients not getting fed, and others getting more than their share. So we sent down more staff, got guards to oversee handing it out."

Harley nodded, frowning.

"But then the ones that had been missing out, dropped dead. Their shares had been poisoned." Fraser spoke swiftly, excited, as though he loved the mystery. "So now they're trying to figure out how to stop that from happening and in the mean time, cancelling exercise and feeding them at staggered times, so spaced out they'd have to be a Meta to reach the others food without being caught out."

"I see. What about the Gallery?"

"Still in their little cages for now but with all the extra staff overworking on leathers its just a matter of time before a mistake is made downstairs in my opinion. What were you doing in the mess anyways"

"I..."

"Fraser! What gives? Were meant to be in B wing."

"Gotta go Harley, don't drop any pens 'kay?"

"Ill try" she mockingly salutes him as he hustles through the nearest set of doors.

* * *

Jerome Gates - 2pm

Jerome Gates... 2.15pm... Jerome gates... 2.30pm... Jerome _wasting my time_ Gates... what gives?

Harley, not wanting to leave in case her patient was on his way, called down to the orderly station listed on his file. No answer. With a sigh, she hangs up and dials the infirmary, in case he took ill.

"Infirmary." answers some guy, sounding very young, and very bored.

"Hi this is Doctor Harleen Quinzel..."

"The one stabbed by a pen?"

"No relation." she sighs "I was wondering if my patient was in the ward, Jerome Gates?"

"Nope." he replies near instantly.

"Could you check" she prompts sweetly.

"I've got two old ladies and a comatose skinhead with white power tattooed on his eyelids, I don't think any of them would be named Jerome."

She hangs up and huffs.

* * *

Stefanie Lang. No photo. Why not? The file is utterly unhelpful as Harley leafs through it and chokes down break room coffee. Its mostly court details and witness accounts of the incident that got her admitted. Violent incident, so doubtless a red. By the window tables is about all I have. She briefly pictures wandering through a crowd of faceless patients yelling _Stefanie where are you? who are you? are you even here?_ Orderlies stretch and leave one by one with comments of meatloaf calls and hope they're hungry enough to eat this crap, rousing Harley from her thoughts. She dumps her stuff in her office and heads to the swiftly filling cafeteria. Already feeling lost in the sea of humanity she sees a familiar do-rag esc hairnet and beelines for the end of the queue.

But she didn't have a name to call out.

"Hey...juice...man...?" she ventures.

"Excuse me!" he acts offended gesturing to his counter of cups "Its juice _and_ pudding man at dinner _thank-you-very-much_! Here you go..." he hands one of each to the nearest patient and turns to her. "Whats up New Girl?"

"Stefanie Lang"

He cranes his neck over the ever-shuffling line.

"Below the rules poster, dead center... ONE cup of each Jesse, not four!"

She leaves him to it.

Stefanie Lang is unremarkable. Sitting at a table with four other unremarkable women. They chat for a while, eating neatly as Harley introduces herself and is met by cool disinterest. The thing Harley is most interested in is the fact not a single other patient lets their view stray to her, or the table she visits. That two tables deep in all directions is reds. That as soon as she stands and excuses herself many many curious eyes track her as though she has only burst into existence once leaving the table.

She makes her notes on Stefanie and scribbles grumpily over "Jerome" and gives up for the night as drizzling rain winds its way down the barred windows. As she signs out for the day, and makes her way to her car, Harley clutches her notebook to her chest.


	6. Chapter 6

Harley's third day began exceptionally smoothly. She woke up a few minutes before her alarm, not completely bright eyed but feeling rested enough. She had remembered the previous evening to stop by for some groceries, so she had breakfast at home. Granted it was toast. But it beat Diner waffles and soda in both price and convenience. Cloudy but not raining or too humid. Minimal traffic. Her ID was prominent to the door guards now that she'd thought to put it on a lanyard around her neck. Her heels made a pleasantly clunking beat as she walked up the stairs to her office, so she hummed along as though in a marching band to keep herself amused. She unlocked her office and stepped inside and it all went downhill from there.

Her first patient threw up all over her shoes, leaving her in a pair that only smelt marginally better from lost and found. Her second grunted. Not in response to what she said, and not in a dismissive "don't care" sort of way but constantly. Back to back. In a you normally pay to view this channel sort of way. The third and forth were entrance assessments, avoiding jail time. With symptoms and problems they recite from a psychology textbook. When she volunteered "Oh! that sounds like blank blank disorder, but then you'd be seeing spots too..." they immediately launched into tales of how they've been seeing spots since age five. Idiots. True "crazy" isn't that weird. Seeing her last pre-lunch patient out into the hall ended up with her taking a right hook a passing Red was aiming at his orderly, splitting her lip and breaking her reading glasses.

All of this was carried out under a mound of paperwork that had appeared on her desk overnight. It turned out Jerome, her missing appointment from the day before was dead. Although death was certainly a good enough excuse not to show up, she found it hard to forgive him. Not only did she still have to fill in all the complicated forms that a death presented, she still had to technically "discharge" him from the system, conclude her notes and his files overall and then arrange to have them sent to the police despite never having even met him. The worst part was, he was a leather... her only higher risk below-floor patient so far and she got nothing from it. No insight to the difference in severity, nothing on the conditions down there, no juicy chapter to write up, no opportunity to make contacts with guards. And with the mealtime poisoning mystery happening right now too _ARGH_...

* * *

She slumped dramatically over the bar separating the line from the table in the cafeteria and cried out to juice man to please have access to something stronger than apple juice back there. But all she got was a laugh and a reminder about the vending machine in the staff room, where the staff should be, as in not in here hanging out with the crazies. Her protests of _but I like crazy_ fell on deaf ears and she shuffled down two halls and half only to find the machine was out of Grape flavor. And took her dollar anyway.

She did her best attempt at a facial expression other than moping and waited out the lunch hour people watching other staff and naming them in her head as they gave her dirty looks. Puppet, who had purposefully mismatching socks. Jukebox, who seemed to think others cared that he could name all the songs being played by the sad beaten up radio in the corner. Boring lab coats 1,2,3,4,5, and 6. OK she was running out of ideas and turned to the discarded newspapers instead. She blew at the maddeningly stray hair, that never stayed were she moussed it, out of her eyes and went to replace her glasses only to remember they were broken. No crossword for her. Great.

"Want to trade places? You seem like someone I can convince." announced a tousle-haired nurse as he threw himself into the chair opposite her.

"Convince what"

"That their day cant get any worse, so they should take mine, which is definitely worse. I mean..." he clears his throat emphatically "which can only be an improvement! right?"

"Try me."

"I've been bitten, gotten a rape threat, from a man old enough to be my grandpa might I add..."

"Puked on?"

"Twice. You?"

"Yep. Not my shoes."

"Pfft... not my underwear"

She laughed despite herself.

"Ten bucks!" he smiles reaching to the next table with an outstretched hand triumphantly.

"It was five!"

"NO. Five for proving I can get a doctor to talk to a nurse, and five for getting grumpy to laugh. Ten. Learn to add and pay up." Tousle-Hair stands, snatches the two notes and tousles his hair some more.

"Five." Harley corrects, taking one of the notes. "To pay for my guinea-pig food."

She smiles, but its a teeth bared, try-me sort of smile and he notices. He rolls his eyes like a child and his buddy tugs him back over and away from her.

She lays her head on the table for the last ten minutes. Yep. Definitely prefers the crazies.

* * *

Harley only just dragged herself through her apartment door before the phone rang. Her college room mate. Sure they'll keep in touch. It was a call every day. Then every other day. Then twice a week. Now its been... since Tuesday? last week? Who cared, eventually she'd stop calling. All they did was call each other to complain. Today she was eager to vent a little though so she sat through he said she said he saids until it was her turn and proceeded to list all the things that went wrong today.

"...and, if that wasn't enough, I have to pay for new glasses cause they don't cover "personal items" at work." she finished with a sad afterthought "my flowers wilting too..."

"Is that some sort of euphemism?"

"No."

"...cause if you were..."

"Hard no."

She had been trying to set Harley up with some cousin, ex, or neighbor etc ever since they had met.

"Just meet a few people. It cant hurt to look around. Mingle"

"Some people just prefer quality over quantity" _Oops. That just kind of slipped out._

Silence.

"Well..." she exhales audibly "...better luck at work tomorrow. Ill call you. Later Harley."

"Nah, you probably won't." she breathes into the receiver, but its already to a dial tone.

Funny how someone you meet growing up, or in school, can seem like your exact match. Best friends. So much in common. Its not until the world widens as you get older and you realize they weren't so much "just like you" as they were "the most like you person in your limited field of choice of lives-nearby and vaguely-similar-age". She rummages through her fridge for soda but comes up empty. Sipping tap water with a grimace she wonders who's ass she'd have to kiss to have a mini-fridge signed off on for her office.


	7. Chapter 7

The next day found Harley stocking her office with spare shoes, a towel, hand sanitizer, spare shirt, spare coat, spare just about everything. Yes, even spare underwear. Her filing cabinet became a dresser from the second drawer down. Her desk drawer became a mini first aid kit. She threw open her door to welcome the first patient with an air that she was prepared for anything.

What she got was a resounding nothing.

She listened to a woman cry between every word. She listened to a man describe his "brother" inside his head. She offered Rorschach tests to each. She made polite small talk with Greg Wells, who seemed to treat their meetings as coffee dates to catch up with an old friend. The most exciting thing all day was her stapler going missing.

* * *

Her last day of the week went much the same. Lunch was once again, a slow, hear-the-clock-ticking affair. Doctors, a few in polite conversation about patients, mostly kept to themselves, facing off in unassuming directions. Side effect to teaching a group of people to read others. None of them wanted to be read by each other and as such were even easier to read. They'll be able to tell that I "blank" because of my "blank", said their eyes as they feigned interest in faded posters and the bottom of coffee mugs.

Krystal Foley was her One O'clock that Friday. She moved to sit at the table, but slowly. Looking very confused, and ready to change direction at any moment.

"Good Afternoon Krystal, how are ya?"

"Fine, Doctor Quinzel"

"Would you like me to sit at the table with you?"

She remained silent for a moment, tense.

"Yes." she sighed gratefully, relieved.

"Sure thing." Harley said trotting neatly to the right-hand chair and arranging her papers in front of her. Krystal stood stock still, scared still even. "Aren't you going to join me?"  
"That's the talking chair."

"I like talking."

"No. The talking chair. You are a doctor. You sit in the asking chair. You ask and ask and ask until the talking chair talks."

"SO you agree I'm a doctor now."

"I saw your ID..." she offers quietly.

"But a chair talking is pretty crazy sounding." Harley jokes.

"You're trying to be funny." Krystal deadpans, hand resting on the back of the opposite chair.

"Only tryin'?" Harley holds her breath and waits for a reaction. Slowly the tiniest of smiles tugs at the girls mouth and makes her gamble a success. She eases herself into the "asking chair" and Harley feels the thrill of progress made.

She farewells Krystal at the end of the session with the smallest touch on her upper arm as she opens the door for her. She flinches, then relaxes.  
"Ill see you again Monday, Krystal ok?"

"Okay." Its whisper quiet by Harley heard her just fine. She watches her go down the hall at a slow shuffle until she's out of sight with a frown.

* * *

Her afternoon was a standard mix of your everyday crazies. Uncontrollable rage induced assault, the postman was stealing my secrets so I broke in to tell his wife, childhood trauma induced multiple personality disorder. All criminals, all insane, all boring. She could have talked to similar if not more interesting cases at any old psychiatric ward and Harley yearned for the challenge and intrigue; the glamour, as she had put it to Dr Leland on her first day, of the super-criminals below ground.

It was this itch that led her to popping over to visit Greg at dinner. Near the end of his dinner to be precise. He smoothly included her in the group at his table without question and she actually found their company more interesting than the lunches shed been having with her colleagues. So lost in conversation they were that the leathers were lead into the room and they hardly noticed until an armed guard asked them to move on. Despite having a doctors supervision, the guard nodded his head at Harley, they were due back in their rooms shortly. With a glance from Greg, the twins and the other two men that had sat with them stood and cleared their trays without question.

She stood by and waited for them between the clearing area and Juice man, who's usual humor seemed strained.  
"Whats up Juice?"

"If it were possible I'd be paler than you right now. Check it." he jerked his head to the far doors, which now that the Leathers had been seated had been pinned back to admit two dozen or so men and women each flanked by two guards at gunpoint.

"Best get out of here Doc. No good comes from these folks above ground, and that white coat is like a red flag to a bull."

"For luck" she mouthed at him as she left, flanked by the giggle twins, blowing a mocking kiss back at him. He didn't smile.

But a pale, green haired man did. One corner of his mouth tilted sinisterly at Juice man and Harley in turn as he completely ignored the guns at his chest and the man scrabbling under the table to attach his chain to the floor. She slowed at the doors and risked another glance over her shoulder at the Joker as he sat, tilting his head as though in question. She didn't really see how she had caught the clowns attention, but damn if she wasn't tempted to encourage it. She scowled at him, not forgetting the solidity of the concrete wall, but had to hide a smile when this seemed to leave him alight with amusement.

She walked the others to the red wing in case they would indeed be in trouble for their lateness, but she needn't have worried. All the staff seemed far from sight except the medical ward at the juncture of the red and yellow halls, nearest the cafeteria. They moved hurriedly, setting out supplies, pulling down folders of protocol from their jackets on the walls, locking away sharp implements. Harley wandered in as though expected and proceeded to act as clueless as possible until someone warned her to watch herself.

"Rogues. Upstairs. With the leathers out too!..." blustered a woman.

"What were they supposed to do? Every, Single, One, Guard or orderly that was involved with bringing them their food, dead. Poison. With notes stapled to their throats saying "Were still hungry"" a man shuddered "and with Joker out of solitary this morning too, we're screwed."

Harley stopped back in to her office to retrieve her things. As she checked she had everything her eyes lingered on the very worse for wear rose. With a sigh she dumped the crumpled bloom into her wastebasket and the remaining water in the small potted plant she'd topped her filing/dresser cabinet with, locked up and left. No one payed her any attention, exiting the car-park already dark and desolate save for the small rectangles of light cast from still lit windows.


	8. Chapter 8

It was surprising how drained she felt once she sat down with the prospect of days off ahead. Without being consciously aware of it she had been running on fumes. She slumped on the couch and stayed there. Sunday evening rolled around leaving Harley checking the time in disbelief wondering where it had gone. Getting her laundry done, a light cleanup of dishes and crumpled papers was all there was time for before she really should be getting to bed. She checked the time again. Really really need to get to bed. She lay and stared at the ceiling. Really really really need to get to sleep. Blinded slightly by the light of her phone screen she checked the time to see how much sleep she would get if she fell asleep riiiiight now. Right ...now. Right now. Now. How bout now.

Her alarm went off.

"NO..." she fumbled for the phone and knocked over the glass of water beside her bed. She threw the towel she'd left over her closet door after showering yesterday onto the spill and swore. Good start.

* * *

Traffic was average, but on very little sleep it seemed like the most irritating and time wasting drive of her life. She binged on sugar and soda she picked up on the way, hoping she wouldn't have to resort to coffee later on. The right-hand guard at the door to reception smiled broadly at her and she clunked her heels along the asphalt, lugging her grocery bag of sugared treats.

"G'Morning" she yawned

"Good morning in-deeeeed" he drew out grinning at his partner.

"Had money on me comin' back for a second week didn't ya" she smirked, flashing her ID.

"That I did." He nodded and opened the door for her as his partner scowled at them both.

It seemed Monday was inbox hell day. How could so many things come up in just two days. She leafed through the papers quickly, sorting them from most to least important when halfway through the stack was a post-it memo reminder for this mornings staff meeting. She swore. Careening down the hall at the highest speed heels allowed she skidded into the room and sat down just ahead of Jeremiah Arkham. She fought to breathe normally through just her nose and took notice of who was here. 90% doctors it seemed. Squirreled away in the corners though were the head of each medical ward, the head of the guards and at the back stood a pair of lost looking orderlies. Start of meeting notices began. Meetings are apparently fortnightly now instead of the last Monday of each month it used to be due to an influx of higher risk patients. Coffee machines in both the ground floor and third floor break rooms are broken... so no caffeine... she didn't even know there was a third floor break room... good thing she bought enough skittles with her she'd be peeing the rainbow.

"A few new staff members have joined us since the last meeting, you may have seen them around; Daniel Coleson, Harleen Quinzel, interns... stand up please."

Harley and a dark haired guy she hadn't seen before stood awkwardly as he continued...

"Doctor Ann Hartman"

An elderly woman who merely inclined her head with clearly no intention to stand. Harley felt like she should sit now, but that other guy was still standing.

"and Lauren and Brandon, helping us fill in some of the recent... vacancies in our orderly team."

The orderlies looked green. Clearly they signed on before being informed that it was because the predecessors had been murdered. From the cruel mischief on the face of the doctor beside them I take it they have had it sprung on them just before the meeting began. Nice.

"Sit, sit. Plenty of time to get to know everyone."

The orderlies, who had been standing to begin with didn't move. The other intern sat so quickly the rubber feet of his chair gave an unpleasant screech. Harley sat in what she hoped was a composed and calm manner.

"As many of you have noticed, the eating arrangements for the risk four and five patients have been changed for the time being."

Harley felt stupid for not realizing that what the staff called the various levels of patients was obviously not the official on-the-books name.

"Repairs to the pothole in the eastern side of the car-park will be fixed Thursday..."

"Hang on. You didn't say anything about when the subterraneans are going back in their holes." came a snarky challenge from the front row.

"Queries would normally be asked at the END of this meeting Doctor Garrett"

"Corporate babble" sneered Garrett.

"If it is such a pressing concern to you Doctor feel free to volunteer your... _expertise_... in crime solving to the police department. Then perhaps you can participate in holding staff interviews to help us find suitable replacements to the Risk five team, though, your refusal to treat risk four and higher patients may leave you with little opinion on the mettle required to do the job."

A few people cleared their throats of laughter briefly as Garrett fumed. She had never seen a mans neck and ears go so red so quickly.

"As I was saying..." said Arkham "The parking lot will be repaired Thursday so if I could remind you all to park on the westernmost side for those working Wednesday night and Thursday morning. In addition, the cafeteria will be undergoing ongoing renovation in sections"

Muttering broke out as soon as he said cafeteria. Wanting to hear it before it filters through the gossip mill Harley strained to listen closely to the rest of his statement.

"The meal times will be further staggered to accommodate this, Currently the Risk one two and three patients are Breakfasting, followed in..." Arkham checks his watch "20 minutes when Risk four patients will be allowed to join those who remain. Remaining Risk three and under patients will be encouraged to move on as the Risk five patients arrive."

This increased muttering tenfold.

"New rules will be instigated to ease this arrangement, a full list will be on display for both staff and patients in the cafeteria. The main change being that a scoring system will be in place in encouragement of good behavior. A Patient begins with a Score based on their risk assessment. One for Risk one, two for Risk two and so forth. The total points seated at a table may not exceed twenty. Risk five must have two guards each, Risk four one guard each. The presence of additional staff lowers the tables score by three. Any misbehavior whatsoever, adds a risk point to every patient present, and the instigating table will gain five points a piece"

"That wont get anyone killed..." murmured the man behind Harley.

"Exceeding 10 points warrants being sent to the solitary ward. As does gaining points more than twice a week."

"and when solitary is filled?" scoffed a slightly less red Garrett

"Additional points will decay one point a week of good behavior until equal to their Risk assessment score once again." Arkham concludes with a hopefully ruffled mustache. "I count on your support as we launch the new system."

This was a dismissal and the staff knew it. Doctors clustered conversing rapidly in hushed tones or stalked down the hall alone depending on their natures. The head guard was inclining his head to better hear the tiny, squat woman who managed the white patient dedicated medical ward. Orderlies shuffled quietly from the room pressed against the wall as though hoping not to brush by anyone on the way out. Harley remained seated pondering for a while until she remembered the mountain of forms awaiting her. She groaned and began the seemingly infinite trek back to her office.


	9. Chapter 9

Why was it that papercuts, probably the smallest possible cut a person could receive, seemed to hurt the most? If you've taken the skin off both knees, people will wince and say that must hurt. It itches like crazy when it starts to heal but knees felt better almost immediately. But they're showy, the three guesses who fell down game is easy. Trying to salt your lunch and almost forgetting the papercut you received earlier however results in repressed screeching for most. But no one is ever going to spot the reason for the screeching, leaving you surrounded by oddly concerned faces. Not entirely dissimilar to the look directed toward someone who has almost sneezed, but then didn't. Harley hated paperwork.

It wasn't that the forms or reports were difficult, far from it. It was the extra paragraph tacked on to each line, seemingly just repeating the same sentence in a few different phrasings that frustrated her. Either say what you wanted to say, concisely, or if determined to make things wordier, be interesting about it. Despite having to try to fit paperwork in between (or sometimes during... disguised as taking notes) her patients appointments, Harley was up to date by One O'Clock. She sat with her still throbbing, slightly salty finger held aloft as she flicked through the notes destined to be her book one day.

Her mind returned to Greg Wells. Without the need for testing it was blatantly apparent to her that Greg's Psychopathy was the key factor in his interesting standing within the social group that had formed around him at meal times. Cliques among crazies. _One of the defining characteristics this form of Antisocial Personality Disorder_... she thought to herself in a scarily accurate impression of her old professor . _..is that they are distinctly predatory in nature. They tend to view others as either competitive predators or prey_. She wondered which she was, that granted her courtesy when she chose to join them. She wondered how many of the other window tables had a head psycho pulling the strings. She wondered if the reds would simply move a row or two of tables inwards now that they would share part of mealtimes with Leathers and Rogues, or be desperate to retain their places. Mostly, she wondered how much candy she had left, and added "toothbrush" to list of things that she should really bring in to work.

* * *

By days end she figured all the nosier staff would have already checked out the new rules and arrangements. From the impressions she gathered during the meeting that morning many would stay away entirely. The nervous would go between meals, she mused as her heels echo'd down the stairway in a now familiar tune, the calmer during the colours. Few, if any, would stay long enough to risk coming face to face with a leather. The door exiting the stairway creaked in its fight to swing back into place as she shouldered through it.

She waltzed calmly down the serving line, lent on the counter and downed a cup of orange juice.

"Bleh. Sour."

"Sour?" repeated Juice, muttering out the side of his mouth "how much sugar have you been having? This stuff is 80% corn-syrup even after adding water"

"Sweet tooth" she shrugs "Or maybe sweet teeth is more accurate"

"No teeth with that attitude."

"Aspiring dentist?"

"I'm pretty sure dentists would be happy to stamp "Dental association approved" on the bottle. Good for business."

"Not with you on their case" she threw over her shoulder. Two of the tables had been given a makeover. Filed bolts, 3 new and sturdier looking floor rings underneath. The fresh paint smell and concrete dust invaded her nose as she joined Greg's Reds. _Greg's Reds... Catchy chapter title_. She noted to herself.

"Hi boys"

"Evening"

"Hey Doc" chorused the twins.

She waggled her finger tips at the three other occupants and received curt nods. She removed her coat and draped it over the back of her chair before taking a seat. She'd get to know them eventually.

"Looking forward to another session tomorrow Gregory?"

"I always look forward to our little chats Dr Quinzel."

"Good to hear it. Looking forward to those fries Archie?" she asked and scooted the fries towards herself without waiting for an answer.

"Who's Archie..." twin began until his brother whispered into his ear "...oh. Nevermind I get it. Have 'em"

"So, have your favorite seats been bent out of shape by the new guys downstairs?" she probed while focusing on her acquired food. She pretended not to catch the glances that flickered between the table and the two garish posters a few feet away.

* * *

 **Talk quietly.**

 **Respect others.**

 **Walk at all times.**

 **No pushing in line.**

 **Do not sit on tables.**

 **Hands to yourself.**

 **Once seated, remain seated until you are done.**

* * *

These rules were in bright varying fonts. Cartoon fruit and vegetables danced around the border of the page. The same or similar sign probably hung in almost every school in the country. The poster below it was much bolder. Sharply contrasting red and yellow. Laminated. Two on every wall and big enough she could read all of them from where she sat.

* * *

 **Risk Level One = One point**

 **Risk Level Two = Two points**

 **Risk Level Three = Three points**

 **Risk Level Four = Four points**

 **Risk Level Five = Five points**

 **TOTAL POINTS PER TABLE MAY NOT EXCEED TWENTY**

 **ADDITIONAL STAFF AT A TABLE LOWERS TOTAL BY THREE**

 **ONE GUARD MUST BE PRESENT PER RISK FOUR PATIENT**

 **TWO GUARDS MUST BE PRESENT PER RISK FIVE PATIENT**

 **THESE GUARDS DO NOT COUNT AS ADDITIONAL STAFF**

 **ANY MISBEHAVIOR OR DISRUPTION GAINS ALL PRESENT ONE POINT**

 **OCCUPANTS OF TABLE CAUSING ANY MISBEHAVIOR OR DISRUPTION GAINS FIVE POINTS EACH**

 **INDIVIDUALS EXCEEDING TEN POINTS WILL FACE DISCIPLINARY ACTION**

* * *

"We keep to ourselves for the most part, don't we men." Greg led

The others murmured agreement and returned to eating. Leathers began to join the room.

"Not looking to make new friends?" Harley pushed.

"No" Greg's eyes flashed as he measured her questions

"Just thought you might be sick of me as a dinner date by now" she fluttered her eyelashes exaggeratedly and picked at her stolen fries.

"Pleasant... company... is so hard to find" ventured one of the others with a startled glance across the room at an orderly beginning to stop by tables of whites and yellows and recommend finishing up.

Any extra staff not part of the serving line began to drift from the room trying their best to look nonchalant as the clatter of chains made its way up the far hallway.

Murmured conversation between various pairs at the table kept it from awkward silence and Harley tried to pay attention to the socializing rather than the line of Rogue's being corralled through the serving lines at gun point. Most ignored the guards entirely, as though used to their annoyance, but a few glared murderously at fellow patients and guards alike. Greg neatly isolated and chewed small mouthfuls steadily clearing the remainder of food on his plate and the others began to follow suit, focusing on finishing, but one by one the men opposite her froze as they looked over her shoulder.

A tray filled with cups clattered onto the table beside her and the nearest chair was pulled close enough that as the occupant of it sat their thighs touched hers.

"Don't eat that garbage" he said knocking the fries across the table and into Archie's lap "The pudding is the only thing worth eating in this place, here"

Harley stared at the Joker as he handed her a pudding cup. He had spare. Many spare. It seems juice man didn't object to the fact he had selected 7 pudding cups and 3 of juice.

"Get up clown, pick another table."

"Here is fine." he growled back at his guards "hard to find good help" he directs at Harley with a grin and a jerk of the head to the guards.

"Rules are rules clown, 20. Points. A. Table." the taller of the two guard punctures his words with taps on the nearest poster.

"Oh so you can read. But clearly not count." he raises an eyebrow as the rest of the table stares silently at their trays. "Three points for reds, one, two, three, four, five, six reds. 18 points. Room for more."

"Yeah but your 5 points dumbass"

"The lovely doctor here makes Little. Old. Me. only two points."

"Docs don't count that's for extra guards"

"Additional STAFF see , nice and big and bold and SHINY right there."

He had a point. It may have been intended as guards, but was vague. The guard wasn't pleased.

"Still adds to twenty. That's too many, move"

"Well it does say _exceed_ twenty." Harley provided thoughtfully, rereading the poster once again herself.

"Exactly" Joker agreed in a growl, bouncing one leg and making his chains chatter dolefully "Better strap me in for the stay boys 'cause " _Once seated, remain seated until you are done_ "" he quotes nodding to the cheerier of the two rules posters.

The first guard, who hadn't said anything moved his gun from at rest to the Jokers temple and jerked his head at the talkative one to attended to bolted loop under the table. The guards scowl intensified equally to Jokers smile as he was forced to grovel under the table at her side to attach the lock with the table crowded as it was. Harley kept her legs together and tilted them away from the guard in deference to her a-line skirt, brushing against Joker more as a side effect. Only once it was secure, yanking on it several times to check, did they uncuff his hands so that he could eat.

The guards stepped back enough to have a clear shot at Joker, looking more like cronies or bodyguards than staff. The reds on the tables on either side of theirs left almost in unison. Greg glanced at two of their company who rose to their feet to leave.

"Please, don't let me interrupt your... gathering." Joker's voice dragged out the pleasantries comically.

The other men sat again. Greg's brow furrowed in thought as he set his cutlery neatly aside. Harley tasted the pudding a let out a small surprised mmmm. It was good.

"Not at all. We have taken up enough of the doctors time and really should be retiring for the evening." He stood and gathered his tray, the twins already pushing their chairs in as quietly as possible. "I'm sure she wants to get home after all the paperwork we cause."

Harley noticed the out being offered to her but had just taken a rather unmannerly large spoon of pudding and couldn't really answer. She didn't really know what to answer anyway. This was too interesting to walk out on really. Joker clearly noted what Greg was doing and looked between the two of them curiously. She put a hand in front of her mouth as she worked to clear it enough to speak. Greg didn't wait for a reply. He simply nodded goodbye to her and left, walking swiftly, twins trailing behind.

She shot a look at Joker as he smoothed back his hair and enthusiastically pursued more pudding.

"Don't glare cupcake, there are no pens around to bother you."

One of the remaining men eased from his chair so slowly it was as though fast movements would get him killed and left. The other two seemed to be sitting as still and quiet as possible

"I wasn't glaring." she scooped vigorously at the last bits of pudding "I was having a pleasant conversation until you scared everyone off."

"I'm not pleasant?"

"You being "pleasant" scares off others better than others being decidedly unpleasant"

He looked at her slack jawed in mock amazement and confusion.

"Does it?"

She raised an eyebrow and stayed silent, not playing. He gestured to her eyebrows.

"Careful doing that," he intoned seriously "too high and they fly clean off" he tapped his own blank brow.

She laughed. Everyone in hearing stared at her. absolutely everyone. Joker most of all. It was an odd sensation to be watched by so many so intently. She blushed.

"Somethin' on my face?" she demanded gruffly to the massive Leather seated to her left. He shook his head and the soft clinking of chained people eating resumed.

"Your tongue is purple" Joker glared, oddly serious suddenly.

"Thanks?" Harley questioned putting her now empty pudding cup down in front of her. He seized it and lined it up with the cups still on his tray meticulously.

"Why." he ate quickly, you could set a metronome by the regular scrape of his spoon.

"Uhh... skittles? No wait grape soda with lunch." She remembered resting her chin on her hand.

The scraping of his spoon stilled for a beat then continued. Three cups down, soon he'd surely be comprised entirely of pudding. She tried to keep her expression relatively blank but her fascination in every action he had taken so far this interaction fascinated her. Oddly he seemed to be flicking her similar searching glances each time he had a brief pause to switch cups.

"Sweet tooth." he stated, finishing the pudding.

"Sweet teeth."

"No teeth." he said throwing back a cup of juice in one swallow like an oversized shot.

"I've already has this conversation today." she sighed and shook her head.

"Teeth are important." he implored leaning in "People would be a lot happier if everyone learnt to smile and take a joke." his eyes crinkled as he smiled behind the smile tattoo on his hand.

"Yeah a toothbrush for work is on my to do list." she assured as she got to her feet and smoothed her skirt. He went to stand also but couldn't entirely due to a combination of the chain and the fact him moving brought the two guns behind him to instant readiness.

"Aren't you going to ask if _I_ need something from the store?" he growled

"Out of hairdye?" she asked innocently

"HA... HA... HA... HA... HAAAA!"

The guards cuffed him and detached his chain as soon as he began to laugh, a few people nearby seemed visably shaken. They tried to shuffle him away towards the double doors but not before he managed to growl back at her.

"It's my natural colour actually, Ill prove it to you sometime."


	10. Chapter 10

It was over half an hour of polite chit chat before Harley managed to get Greg to actually respond to her questions on Tuesday. The responses themselves undefinitive and snide. She put it down to a bad day, or bad nights sleep or something, and let him go that morning without further prying. Still concerned about it by lunch she headed to the cafeteria but by the time she swiped some juice and eyeballed the room to see if Greg was in his usual seat not only Greg, but all of his companions were standing to clear their trays and leave.

"Do I smell or something?" she directed to Juice-man.

"It just proves you're the new girl that you still have a sense of smell, gets burnt right out of you by someones antics sooner or later"

With no real reason to linger with no lunch mates she simply observed for a moment. The seating plan seemed to have moved two to the right. The center table gang was now much closer to the colored-side door, and the two that were on the far end had now rotated to immediately surrounding the downstairs-end door. Interesting. Seizing another juice for the road she left for her office, trying to remember the layout for her notes when she returned.

* * *

"You're not even listening!" screeched her 4 o'clock.

"I am listening, I just didn't want to interrupt you. You deserve to have your say."

"Yes. Well... Thats right then... So I was in the..."

She wasn't listening. She had no idea what the woman was ranting on about and she was loathe to try figure it out, considering it may not make sense anyway being crazy and all. She threw out the old, I am paying attention im just respecting your right to ramble on about nothing therapists excuse and returned to doodling on the margins of her form.

Candy and handcuffs. Her professors would have had a field day.

* * *

Dinner rolled around and Harley went early. Great minds think alike it seemed because for some reason, Greg was already seated and established. What was strange about it was his company. The twins were in place at his right hand, sure. The rest of the table was nervous looking whites and yellows. In every available chair. Now she was sure something was amiss.

The following conversation went like this:

"Hi Greg, Boys." she inclined her head to them in turn.

"Good evening Doctor, late night for you, hard at work as always"

"It never ends, but I'm almost done for the day" she smiles.

"Id offer you a seat but Im afraid there isnt much room. Don't let us keep you."

"Dont worry about it, I wasn't planning to hang around tonight, just checking in."

"Well, have a good night."

"See you tommorow."

But this is what Harley knew was being said:

"Hi Greg, I see that only the twins are your usuals and you've filled the table with random people you've scared into it"

"Formal impersonal greeting, should'nt you be leaving soon"

"Checking what you're up to is my last job for the day"

"I realised that I couldnt raise the points of the table so you couldn't join us because you reduce them, so I went for quantity which needs lower individual points to work."

"I know what you're doing and can always impose myself another night"

"Go away"

"I'll be back."

She was so annoyed she forgot to swipe pudding.

* * *

Planning angry witty responses that she could have said in the moment now that she'd had a minute to come up with them consumed her evening. She didn't bother checking in on breakfast the next morning so it was almost lunchtime before she heard about what happened as she scrabbled for the can of grape soda in the bottom of the staff vending machine.

"Pair of whites, not a fleck of dust on their records started a food fight... what on earth got into them! 'course with the new rules all of em got added points."

"Had the leathers arrived yet?" Harley spun and asked concerned.

"No, thank god or we'd have two fresh bodies this week for sure. As it stands I suspect some of the reds will be arranging "accidents"" the second doctor air quoted.

"I might go out for lunch, I dont fancy the tension in this place..." the first doctor continued, stirring their coffee as they left.

A lunchtime tussle between reds over who got to sit further from the incoming leathers added another set of points to many of the patients, this time including the first half of leathers. To put it bluntly, they werent pleased. A pair of leathers made for the reds with disregard for anyone in the way with such uproar that the rest of lunch was cancelled. And everyone got more points.

Extra staff was on hand that night, points totals strictly enforced, breaking up some social groups. Whites left almost immediately, yellows scoffed their food. The reds, though they had a reputation to maintain, still seemed eager to leave before anything more could happen. Everyone, staff and patient was on edge, so when the last Rogue was unhooked from the concrete and marched away for the night without incident, it seemed somehow even more foreboding.

* * *

Harley sat with Krystal in one of the craft rooms on Wednesday morning. She was even quieter than usual but seemed genuinely focused on the foam and glue construction taking form on the desk. Harley relaxed into it, talking softly about what she was making and offering that at least once a week, their sessions could be outings. The sensory room, craft room, the courtyard garden. Krystal even offered the fact that she liked Harley's deep purple blouse without any prompting. When Harley thanked her she almost had colour in her face. Until the alarms went off.

The colour drained from Krystal so fast it was as though a veil of white had been dropped over her face. The sirens wailed and crashes and yelling sounded in the distance.

"I think we'd better end the session there sweetie" Harley calmly proposed, tidying away the supplies they were using in neat methodical motions. She put an arm around the girl as they walked toward the door only to step back as a man ran past screaming obscenities.

"Maybe we stay here for a bit until things calm down." she revises, leaving Krystal by the table and stepping forward to close and lock the door, but too late.

A man stepped inside the room towards them, a chair leg held like a sabre before him. Gunshots rang out somewhere to their left.

"Doctor doctor, and a doctors little pet" the man giggled, blood stained the sleeves of his shirt, as though they had been wrenched free from tight restraints there not long ago. A Leather.

"Hi, I dont think we've met." Harley ventured calmly with a simle as Krystal clung to her hand and tried to stand behind her.

"Have I met _her_?" he growls, trying to see around Harley "she one of the little... troublemakers starting shit they cant finish in the cafe? HUH?"

"She's new, just got in last night. Im carrying out her entry evaluation." Harley lied smoothly, squeezing Krystal's hand for comfort.

Someone strode past the ajar door and did a double take. Harley hoped it was a guard and tried to keep the leather talking.

"You're welcome to join us, we were thinking of doing some drawing until things calmed down a little..."

The Joker walked in. Walked really wasn't a good enough way to put it. He glided nonchalantly into place beside the leather as though the craft room was his lounge and he was pleasantly surprised to have guests in his home.

"Hello there!" he said cheerily before equally cheerily beating the Leathers head in with a jagged metal object in his right hand.

"Fancy seeing you here Doctor Quin-zel" he offered, arms spread wide as blood dripped from the edge of his makeshift weapon. The colour matching the lipstick he had somehow aquired. "As you can hear someone is throwing a little party! Can't believe I didn't think of it myself."

She felt Krystal shake as she clung to the back of her whitecoat and decided the best thing to do was play along. Reaching back to hold her hands.

"We weren't invited so we decided to make our own decorations and have a little party by ourselves. We'd just finished and tidied up and you've made a mess again, so we'd better stay here."

"A mess? No, no, no. Its just more decoration. This pattern is hard to achieve I'll have you know." he gestures at the splatter adorning the table legs. The leather moans. "Whoops guess I missed a spot" He took another swing. Harley blinked the flecks from her eyelashes and scowled.

"You're scaring my friend."

"I'M scaring your friend?" another patient made to run into the room and the Joker simply held out his weapon and smiled and the man turned around closing the door behind him. "You're scaring your friend"

Some banged on the door and Joker swung it open and stared out for a moment, they left too.

"No, no, no. This is never going to work. I hate. Missing. The party." he growled, punctuation his words by tapping the hunk of metal on the floor and then throwing it to the side. He looked her over. She was curious for a moment until his eyes lingered a little too long on her chest. She glared.

"Well its the only place theyll pay attention to..." he muttered thoughtfully.

He stepped forward and ripped her shirt open, sending buttons flying.

"HEY!" she yelled, trying to free herself from Krystals panicked grasp to cover herself until the Joker seized her throat with firm but gentle pressure.

"Hold still, I don't have time for this"

Taking the blood red lipstick from his pocket, without ever brushing his hand across her, he drew an enormous smile stretching across her cleavage, complete with teeth. He stepped back to admire his work as people stampeded past the open doorway.

"Just stand there like that and you'll be fine." he dismisses tucking the lipstick away and retrieving his weapon. "Time to join the fun before they spoil it entirely. HA" he waits for a break in the traffic and steps in, joining them. The rate of gunfire had increased, so had the yelling.

They stand there stunned into silence for a moment until a man bursts into the room yelling only to cut off suddenly. He gives them an awkward little apology and leaves just as quick as he entered. Krystal breathes raggedly between tears and Harley realises that for a while now, she is the one shaking, not Krystal.

A few more false starts occur, sending them gasping and bracing themselves in fear but the intruder always left almost immediately. The yelling and screaming becomes barked orders and demands and the noise slowly calms. The guards have finally regained control. Harley isnt sure how long they stand there, shaking knees locked in place until guards find them. Krystal surprises Harley by tugging her shirt and coat closed as they arrive, covering her bra and the smile above it and then clutching to her front.

"LET GO OF THE DOCTOR AND HIT THE GROUND!"

"WAIT! she's fine! She's my patient!" Harley yells in defense, hugging Krystal back.

"Your patient do this?!" The guard angrily, seemingly in charge, gestures his gun to the body of the first intruder.

"No she didn't! it was..."

"We didn't see!" Krystal yelled squeakily voice breaking with emotion "We hid while he fought some other man till the other guy left... it was horrible..." she sobbed and clinged a little too much even for Krystal, but the guard bought it.

"Either of you hurt?"

"Just shock, I think." Harley cleared her throat to answer "Once we get cleaned up and a quick check up we should be fine."

"You two head to the medical bay then. Men, call this one in and clear the rest of the hall, we need to finish up and give the boys downstairs a hand..."

Harley and Krystal walked down the hall until out of sight then stopped to button up her doctors coat properly before they continued.

"Wanna tell me why you did that...?" Harley asked gently, adjusting the collar of her top so that it appeared all was well beneath the coat.

"He helped you. It was weird scary and mean but I think from him it still counted as helping... I want to be helped too. I dont want to be decorations" she adds quietly as they enter the ward.


	11. Chapter 11

The idea of Joker helping her was whirling around her head like an unsteady kite for the rest of the week. From what she knew from his reputation, the media, and what he had said and done in her presence so far the act of "helping" someone could only be construed as confusing or downright alarming.

She read and reread definitions and studies on Psychopaths and Sociopaths, the arguments for and against them being separate or the same disorder. Predator or prey. Empathy and guilt. She took notes. She reviewed her previous notes on their interactions, currently filled under the titles: Pens, Pudding and Lipstick. It was reasonably safe to assume given the lack of acknowledgement Joker showed towards Krystal that she wasn't a factor. No history of previous interaction, no attempt to... safeguard? claim? what do you even call it... _"drew on my boobs to scare off others from messing with my head first"_ gah...

She tapped her pen against the desk, untill the sound grated on her, then she wiggled it in the air in the age old manner of "look, a rubber pencil!"

* * *

Option A: Joker didn't want someone (me) to be hurt and thus isnt a psycopath

Option B: Joker didn't want someone (me) to be hurt, because he wanted to be the one to do it. Is a psycopath.

Option C: Joker didn't want someone to be hurt because it might cause "the party" to end sooner, allowing him to hurt more people before going back to boredom. Is a psycopath.

Option D: Joker is interested in me from our encounters so far and has something special, (read dangerous) planned for me. Is a psycopath.

Option E: Joker is only doing anything at all to mess with me and make me make stupid lists because he thinks Im a "toy" (ref pen incident) is a psycopath.

Option F: Joker was just horny, with no company but his own hand in solitary all day and just wanted to see some boobs. The boobs being mine is of no relavance. Is a man.

Option G: Joker is drugged out of his mind 99% of the time and thought he was tagging a giant jack-in-the-box as his so no one would wind it without him. Is heavily medicated.

Option H: Joker has shares in both Gotham's paper and pen industry, and wants me to waste lots of money scribbling about this to pad his wallet. Im an easy mark.

Option I: This list got grumpy and silly letters ago and now Im being obsessive. I need a different kind of help.

Option J: He thought it was funny at the time...

* * *

Well the results were in. Very high percentages argued that in conclusion, Joker is crazy and she didn't really know why he thought like he did and the fact that she was so hung up on it was making her crazy too, which he would most likely just think was funny. So much progress. Or was it the other thing.

Reviewing her list as objectively as possible she groaned when she noticed that somewhere along the way she wanted him to show interest in her. She wanted to intrigue one of the most criminal and insane of all the insane criminals into talking to her. She diagnosed her self as a textbook psychologist and moved on.

* * *

The following Monday Harley had everything planned out. Slamming a thick envelope of wadded paper down on her desk she took her seat behind her desk and dug in her heels for the day. Two of her more minor cases had already been moved, one down a threat level and one to a lower risk asylum out of town, to be closer to their family, and she had every intention on remaining on a roll. Krystal was an easy start for the day. They chatted about her trip to the zoo for a school field trip when she was younger. Innocuous, but it told Harley a few more things about her patient. She had an older brother. Her teacher was scary to her, seemingly mostly due to his overlarge mustache. She liked the giant tortoises very much, and would have spent longer near them if they hadn't been forced to move on to the aviary section, where the parrots screamed, she hated screaming. Her notes on her crafts-room comrade were fairly well rounded at this point. Between the police report that was filed alongside her admission to Arkham and the bits and pieces she had talked out of her or observed painted a horrible and sadly fairly common situation. Knowing that it would be in her job description to eventually bring the girl around to confronting why she was here before she could get better was daunting, but she was confident she could get her there. Eventually.

Patient two for the day had been misdiagnosed with depression by his GP, and put on anti-depressants that made his Bi-polar disorder far far worse. In his attempts at suicide he had throttled his sister to near death when he found she was hiding all sharp implements from him before proceeding to the roof of their apartment block. He struggled against and eventually knocked over the edge two would-be rescuers before being tased and arrested. If things weren't bad enough, one of the falling rescuers struck and killed a pedestrian. Thanks to a competent lawyer, his charges of assault, two counts of murder and one of manslaughter had sent him to Arkham and not death row. He was responding well to the new, accurate, meds that she had immediately switched him to, but his biggest mental health issue at the moment, from Harley's point of view, was guilt. She hoped to argue the review board down to a yellow bracelet for him. Though his crimes pinned him as violent, he had no history of violence before the incident, or problems since.

Feeling down on his behalf wouldn't help, especially with Greg up next. She patted her paper wad with affection and determination.

* * *

She minced into place at the doctors-side chair once Greg had already been seated. Casually. Then she dropped the paper wad with a satisfying thud onto the table between them, less casually. He didn't flinch. She knew he wouldn't.

"A little different today.." she began without greeting him, popping a stick of gum into her mouth. His face twitched slightly. She was on to something.

"Why dontcha take a look at these with me and let me in on your opinion."

"Doctor Quinzel, I would have hoped that we were beyond the Rorschach stage of our appointments..."

"Oh these ain't inkblots or nothin'" the twitch had become almost a full blown sneer "Think of em like flashcards or.. little mugshots you cut out of a magazine to take to the hairdresser" she brandished the first of her pages with aplomb. It was a newspaper clipping of a petty criminal turned murderer.

"Whatd'ya think?"

He stayed silent. His face was blank but his nostrils flared repeatedly.

"How'bout this guy?" an embezzler who turned on his wife when she wouldn't join him when the time came to run away.

"No thoughts? hmm lets try this one, I know his bangs are a bit over the top for a geezer like him but I reckon some of you guys can rock it."

"I don't see what you hope to achieve with this pointless exercise." he was calm. Scarily calm.

"Excercisin' what? Paper's not that heavy" she snorted with laughter. Purposefully, of course. "How this for a looker?"

"Stop this."

"Whats wrong?" she asks wide eyed.

"This is unprofessional and I refuse to participate"

"Oh com'on Greg, were all friends aren't we?" she gestures inclusive of the two of them and all the portraits spilling out of her envelope.

"You are supposed to be a doctor not the friend of criminal scum such as these" he seems to narrowly master the urge to sweep them off the table.

"Speaking of unprofessional! that's no way to talk down to your new room mate" she admonished

"What on earth are you talking about..." Greg hisses

"These guys are all patients here, they're all just like you! On account of you getting along so well with the other patients I was thinking I could get you moved down to yella..."

"Risk two!"

"That's what I was sayin!, to a yellow patient, then you're allowed room mates! Isn't that neat?"

She let him fume for a minute, then kicked off her heels with an aside of "Scuse'me but they really give you hell after a few hours...where was I? This ones a dead ringer for your rap sheet... Oh never mind he got killed in that nasty business last Wednesday..."

"I do not require a roommate." he ground out

"Wanna stay a Red for the rep huh... we could try get another tough customer moved down to yellow so your not as lonely... how do you feel about this guy?"

The pale face and green hair jumped out of the torn out magazine page in her hand, nestled among chalk outlines with question marks in their centers, the headline "Jokes on who?" slashed across the trademark grin in red lettering.

It was a brief crack in Gregory's calm facade, but so intense that it flashed past like lightning.

"Suppose it'd be hard to sit together with your new friend though what with the points thing... everyone got one for the riot... you were there for both cafe incidents weren't ya... what are you up to now?"

"Six."

"Cool so your points buddies too!"

"I am not, and will never be, associated with that man." Greg spat

"Course you are, you're both patients here, both linked to murders... you got six points a-piece, both smart... psychotic, both got false teeth... both cashed in on some serious crime on the outside before you both got caught" she checked off on her fingers.

"That fool is caught more often than chlamydia" he hissed as Harley, face deadpan, calmly pressed the panic button beneath the table "Almost every crime he has committed has been firmly stuck to him, and plenty of other peoples work besides. Its an insult to humanity that impolite imbeciles such as yourself not only manage to whore your way to a qualification but then use it to help worms like him..." he snarls ripping the photo of Joker from her hand "literally get away with murder when it was you that was supposed to die that day..."

He is so focused on his threats that the sound of the door opening to admit the guards rattles him. His charming facade peeling back over livid eyes and spittle dotted chin.

"You guys catch much?" Harley asks serenely, tapping her papers on the desk to even the edges into a neat pile.

"Enough."

"My report of this should already be on Dr. Arkhams desk though he probably hasn't read it yet. See that he's in chains for his review and that its held soon, before any of his outside contacts try anything. Besides his original admitting charges he has at least a dozen more murders on his docket that they previously missed, and hes at risk from other patients after his choreography of last weeks riot..."

"We lost two of our own in that mess you little..." began one of the guard with an angry shake of Greg's shoulder.

"...See that he gets there _in one piece_ gentlemen." she interrupts sternly

"...yes Doctor...?"

"Quinzel. Dr Quinzel"

She stands in a somewhat triumphant victory pose as they leave, folder hefted with one hand with a smile, the other propped on her hip. Then the bubble she was blowing pops on the edge of her glasses. Then she realities she never put her shoes back on before talking to the guards and was standing there in stocking-ed feet.

"Rats..."


	12. Chapter 12

Despite her care in putting together her appearance and the 6 inch heels she'd worn on a happy whim that morning, by lunchtime she felt dishivelled and 6 inches tall in total. It seems her victory over Greg, as she had viewed it, was viewed somewhat differently by her superiors. She mulled over what had been said during the mid morning meeting she had been summoned to earlier as she nursed a can of grape soda.

* * *

 _"Miss Quinzel,"_

 _The lack of "doctor" didn't go unnoticed._

 _"Having read your... report... on Gregory Wells and his supposed involvement in the incident..."_

 _Riot... she corrects in her head._

 _"...Of the 21nd, we felt that it necessary we have this little meeting."_

 _Pop psychology, mind games, over dramatization, abuse of patient confidentiality... it wen't on for almost an hour._

 _"As your... story... has been partially corroborated by guards who responded to your panic alarm, which given that your patient was posing no physical threat to you at the time..."_

 _This was too much for her and she had to interrupt_

 _"He literally, in the next sentence after I pressed it, told me he'd arranged to have me killed!"_

"Threats, Miss Quinzel, are a part of the job and if you are unable to deal with them perhaps you should enquire into a different proffession."

 _Harley fought the urge to cross her arms like a sullen child as they continued._

 _"As I was saying, the use of the panic alarm was a waste of resources and resulted in insufficient personnel for a more serious conflict elsewhere that resulted in several contusions."_

 _Bruises. Really. Oh for fucks..._

 _"Furthermore," her angry thoughts were interrupted once more "as to the allegations posed linking Mr Wells to seven was it...?"_

 _"SevenTEEN"_

 _"...further homicide cases that is a matter for the Gotham Police Department, and if you wish to research such things, I must ask you again, to look into another profession. Is that clear?"_

 _"Crystal" she smiled, baring all of her teeth._

 _"For now, the patient, Mr Wells, is being reassigned to a threat four rating pending his court date for the afore mentioned homicides and will be spending a week in solitary for his instigation of the recent incident. Upon the evening of your little stunt he attempted to poison his guards with help from the accomplices that have came to light. One of which has agreed to testify that the murders he was committed for were indeed under Mr Wells's orders."_

 _BUT THAT'S ALL THE THINGS I RECOMMENDED IN MY REPORT! UUUUGH! Harley thought, but she said:_

 _"That's good to hear Doctor, I'm pleased that he will face the consequences of his crimes."_

 _"Yes, well none of this trap-laying, concluded by report beforehand nonsense. Next time a patient attempts to kill you, have recorded proof, and report about it afterwards." he warns, dismissing her._

 _"What? after I'm already dead?" she whispers to herself as she walks as un-stompily as she can manage from the office, closing the door softly behind her "Zombie reports, that'd be a trick."_

* * *

"UUUUnnnngh..." she rested her head on top of the soda can for a moment before realizing it would probably leave an imprint of it on her forehead and switching it to the tabletop.

"Bad day Doctor Quinzel?"

"What gave it away" she asked, voice muffled slightly by the squish of her cheek against the plastic coated wood.

"Being willing to put your face against that germ infested cesspool we call a break room table"

"Maybe ill catch something and get to go home" Harley murmurs, still not raising her head.

"That bad?"

"Formal warning for doing my goddamn job" she replies sunnily.

"Ouch"

"Yeah... Who am I talking to anyways all I see is cesspool."

A older woman moved around the table into her field of vision and waggled her fingers in greeting.

"Uhhh.. Doctor..." that part was easy, white coat "Heart...?"

"Hartman. Fairly impressive recall for a one off informal mention, over a week ago, you might find that you're..."

"Uhhhgh. Please don't shrink me doc I feel short enough."

The womans wrinkled mouth contorted oddly. Eventually Harley realised it was a smile.

"May I join you?"

"Its a free cesspool"

"Indeed." she inspects the chair before she sits, and keeps her hands and arms off the table.

Tucking a loosened clump of hair back over her ear Harley straightened, envying the womans hair. It was so strictly ordered that not a wisp strayed from the elegant knot at the back of her neck.

"Can I... help you with something or..?" Harley begins curiously.

"Not at all dear."

"Oh"

"I believe I may be able to help you though."

"I think I'm ok but thanks for..."

"Leave"

"Excuse me"

"Leave." The woman repeats. Tone mild and friendly, but the look on her face anything but. "Unlike your college professors, your patients cannot be persuaded to give you full marks. You will fail"

This wasn't the first time this had been implied to her. Though it offended her all the same. Too young, blonde, pretty to have become a Doctor on her own steam.

"Now you wait one damn minute I-"

"I'm not interested in your feeble excuses for your behavior I just want you to move on. I see you've already received formal warning, but let that be a lesson. They will be on to your little scheme, sooner rather than later so don't. waste. our. time."

Shocked by the attack from such an unknown and unexpected angle Harley struggled with the urge to slap this woman. How dare she?!

"Move on. Fraud in a place like this costs lives. Better to listen to me now... pick a profession more suited to your... talents." She scrunches her nose as though disgusted.

"No you listen to me you saggy old bitch..." Harley begins getting to her feet, a few stragglers in the room have gone quiet, clearly not wanting to miss any drama.

"Ah your charming upbringing shows itself... I don't know how you found my observations on the social structures between my patients and Mr wells, but I wont stand for it. Whoever helped you to access them will be found and dismissed if I have any say in the matter, and believe me Missy, I do." she raises her voice as though to get the onlookers onside.

"What the...I didn't steal anything from you!"

"You expect me to believe that the report you submitted..."

"Is my own observations!"

"You did two years of work? questioning the subordinates of the crime web that includes Wells... finding the outside connections between subjects, monitoring their suspicious lack of correspondence?" she laughs

"No, I ate lunch with them a couple o' times! like a fucking normal human being!"

"You expect me to..."

"Look Honey," Harley begins, cutting her off "I don't expect you to believe anything... much less understand how talking to a person rather than a test subject might help them open up to you about a few things whether they realize they're doing it or not, but I didn't steal shit from you, or from your lackeys or whoever I'm supposed to have bribed to get your stuff. You can shove your report and shove your "advice"." she finishes the dregs of her soda and slams her hand down on the empty can to flatten it. "I worked hard to get here, damn hard. Anyone who claims otherwise is just pissy that no one has ever looked at them and assumed they could sleep their way up, not even if they really really really wanted to. Bet some even tried to." Harley didn't miss the tiny flinches on Hartman and one other of the women present. Nor, weirdly, a young guy to the back corner. "Let me give you some advice. See peoples faces, not their reports, and make accusations when you have something other than the stick up your ass to stand on!"

* * *

As with all workplace gossip, it seemed everybody knew of the "Hag vs Harlot" argument within about ten minutes. Harley took one look at the muttering pair of orderlies outside the staff room at lunch and made an abrupt turn towards the patient cafeteria. A guard did a rather over the top impression of a sassy woman with one hand on her hip and the other one stabbing accusingly toward his colleague to roars of laughter. Harley cringed, recognizing what her mother used to refer to as her "Now see here mister!" pose. She shouldered past them and walked directly to Juice.

"Hey there Doc" he greets her one handed, passing cups with the other.

"Hey Juice." she replies dejectedly, snagging a cup.

"Life got you down?"

"You know.." she squints suspiciously.

"Hell doc, everyone knows" he murmurs eyebrows raised.

Her fears confirmed Harley groans and rubs her temples.

"I suppose I should be glad to be the "harlot"?"

"Hey, as much as theyre mocking you for your smart mouth, theyre closing ranks on the old lady for being a bitch." he sloshes juice slightly in his enthusiasm "Do your little trick where you act like your looking at nothing while you see everything and check out the wallflowers."

Harley focuses more on the room instead of her own misery and quickly notices the smattering of interns and a few of the younger doctors peering from safe vantage points near the exits. She watches as one of them almost almost sits at a table then awkwardly puts his hand in his pocket like he wasnt reaching to pull out the chair and dithers before leaving. Harley snorts quietly.

"Your starting a trend, dont back off now"

"Thanks Juice. And for the juice."

"Always welcome Doc"

Harley took a seat with Krystal and a White she'd never seen before. The two patients sat a carfully maintained two seats apart and didnt speak.

"Hey Krystal, and Hi... sorry I dont think I know your name?"

"Margeret..." the other girl answered quietly after a long pause. And followed by a long pause. "...Im new."

"Well... welcome." Harley smiles encouragingly "Im Doctor Quinzel, but Harley is fine"

Pause.

"...Like the motorcycle?"

"Almost. I used to have one you know."

"Oh."

After a moment it was clear nothing else was going to follow and they all sat quietly for a moment until Margeret got up to clear her tray and leave.

"She's not new" Krystal offered once Margaret was out of hearing. "She always says that. Shes been here since she was little."

Harley cautiously resisted the urge to comment on Krystal calling another person little when her patient scrubs hung from her tiny frame. She wasnt about to interupt her patients attempts at being conversational.

"We're friends though... sort of. Whenever she is here for lunch she sits with me and asks my name like we haven't met. But she always comes back to my table."

"Maybe she likes this table." Harley half joked.

"I thought of that too." Krystal frowned unpeturbed by this comment "So I moved around a few times... and she still came over to where I was sitting"

"Thats nice." Harley smiled in understanding.

"It is." she replied softly.

They sat content with each others company for a while as leathers began to filter into the room. A small contingent of reds all entered at once, late, the redhead twins amoungst them. Harley was momentarily distracted by the realisation Krystal didnt seem to be in much of a rush to leave. The twins spotted her and made their way over.

"Krystal sweetie, did you want to...?"

"I can't leave the table until I've finished my vegetables." She recited in that strange learnt-by-heart voice that Harley had thought they were past. She frowned. "They wont notice me if I do, they never do, no one notices."

"Hey Doc."

"Yeah hey doc! hehe"

"Hey Chuckie one, Chuckie two."

They bump into each other slightly, seemingly non communicative of who will sit where, until they eventually fall in the two chairs to Harley's Right.

"Awfully late for your snack..." She questions lightly.

"Yeah, being questioned 'bout the bo.. OW"

"Dont tell her that!"

"But knows who he was, she's the one dobbed him in as the bo... OW"

Twin One glares at Twin Two rubbing his upper arm where Two pinched it.

"I still don't think we should..." he casts his eyes around the room "Say anything"

"Anything?"

"Anything."

They fall silent. Harley knows better than to ask anything openly, they'll get there...

"But why would she care bout the boss..." Tweedle dum asks out one side of his mouth.

"The OLD boss..." Tweedle dee snaps.

"Right."

"Right."

Harley stifles a giggle and maintains pretending to be fascinated by Krystal mechanically finishing off her green beans before slowly turning to leave.

"But... doesn't she know that she's...you know." the mutter, thinking Harley distracted by Krystal's departing form.

"She doesn't."

"Does she?"

They look at Harley who keeps her face bland and open.

"She doesn't"

"Quir baaunk zee don zuwit?"

"San gorr blup"

"Quir mar sar bar blu dooble"

"San gorr blup!"

"Is that twin speak?" Harley blinks resting her head on one arm propped on the table.

"What?" they start in unison.

"Twin speak. Your own language. Twins often form a somewhat fluid form of garbled word sounds as toddlers that they seem to entirely understand, whole conversations of it. Much fewer continue past say ten or so years old. Your probably the oldest example I've seen." Harley muses thoughtfully.

They blink at her, distressed.

"What wrong guys? I don't mind or anything if that's whats bothering you though its considered a teeny bit impolite to be holding a conversation in front of people who don't speak the same language and all since you know they can't join in." she jokes.

"More pills." declares Dee.

"More pills for sure" sighs Dum.

"Why would you be given more pills?" Harley questions softly.

"Talking."

"Voices."

"Doesnt exist."

"Not real."

"They've got you on meds for using twin speak?" Harley gasps "Thats just plain stupid!"

"Early. Kids."

"Didn't know better. Told them."

Harley's eyes flit between them like following a tennis match as they speak, seeming to get less coherant.

"You're not getting more pills. You shouldn't be on any pills for this. Do you know what the pills are called?" She pries.

"Tried to not take them."

"Tired. They just put it in needles if you dont take em."

"Stab."

"Do you remember what the label on the little bottle said? what it looked like?" Harley leans in desperately.

"Zoo coping?"

"Zoo clothes..."

"...Pen thick sole?"

"Zuclopenthixol?"

"Bingo doc!"

"You're smarter than the last boss! OW." Dum returns to rubbing his arm resentfully as Dee seems to completely lose the conversation and returns to his food.

Putting aside that comment for more thought later Harley reels over the information before demanding:

"Who's your doctor?"

* * *

"But... they've been linked to dozens of brutal robberies and extortion!"

"Look I'm not saying they are all there upstairs or good people or anything but how long have they been on Zuclopenthixol?" Harley wheedles.

"I don't see how that's any of your business!"

"I'm makin' it my business, how long." She snaps at his tone.

"This is ridiculous! I wont stand here and be..."

"How long."

"It wasn't my prescription!"

"How long."

"Well I reviewed the work of their previous doctor and it has a sufficient spread of..."

"Cut the crap. How long."

"Since the age of... 8?"

* * *

Harley stormed down the corridor right into Arkham's office. Taking note of his frown at the door bouncing off the wall behind it from her... enthusiastic entrance. Harley lets out a deep breath before starting.

"Dr Arkham, Hi." She beams

"Dr Quinzel." he begins, ruffled. "I don't recall setting a meeting..."

"Oh no Sir, I just thought I'd pop in and express my interest in taking on some a couple of Risk Three patients that have recently been reassigned."

"Oh?" he asks scrolling through his computer.

"Yes. Mr... well mr's plural... Walters"

"The Walters twins, yes. Just recently... very recently in fact came up... Dr Welch felt they may benefit from a change of psychologist all of a sudden" he turns form the screen and touches his fingertips together in thought "Last I was aware you had a full roster of patients Dr Quinzel no need to overwork yourself they are plenty of other..."

"No its fine. Truly." Harley grins "I just had another patient transferred to Risk One care and another will be treated as an outpatient from next Tuesday."

"Well I suppose in that case we could look at..."

"Thanks Dr Arkham. Also I'd like to hold their sessions jointly if possible?"

He breathes out sharply through his nose.

"You're very... keen...aren't you Dr. This is your..."

"Third week Sir."

"Thank you, third week, and if anything you seem to be more driven. That is very unusual around here."

"Thank you sir."

"Humph. I'm not sure that is a compliment"

Harley twirled her pen around like a baton one handed while his eyes narrowed at her for a prolonged moment.

"Very well, I'll have a copy of their files brought to your..." he reaches for his phone.

"No need Sir, have them here" she lifts her armful of folders briefly "Thanks again!"

She lets herself out into the hall once more as a second mustached Hmphf echos behind her.


End file.
